


living on a fault line

by anddirtyrain



Series: divorce au [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, warning for miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2018-08-13 13:56:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 119,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7979146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anddirtyrain/pseuds/anddirtyrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It didn’t feel real, you know? Logically, I knew it was over, I signed the divorce papers, I moved out. We share custody of Charlie but…it didn’t feel real. And now with Finn. What happens if they get married? When Charlie has a mom and a dad and a house in the suburbs, what happens to the crappy apartment and the extra mom?”</p><p>Or,</p><p>Clarke and Lexa have a lively seven year old daughter by the name of Charlie, they’ve been been split up for a year and a half, Clarke is dating again, and Lexa -still haunted- still loves her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

June 17, 2025.

 

“You’re avoiding her in your own apartment.”

“I’m not avoiding her, Wells.”

Lexa is not avoiding her ex-wife, she’s simply gearing up for when she sees her again, and she thinks she should be allowed that. Too many things come flooding back to her when she sees Clarke, and ever since she let her walls down for the woman so many years ago, it’s been a constant battle to put them back up.

Clarke disarms her, always has.

Clarke has a boyfriend, and Lexa is not entirely sure if he came to the party.

“Sure,” Wells says. “And I’m not Charlie’s favorite uncle.”

“You’re not, Lincoln is.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I think she’s avoiding you too.”

“It doesn’t, but thank you.”

  

* * *

 

_(December 24, 2024.)_

  
_“You could just be honest with yourself.”_

_Lexa hears Raven’s voice through the walls of Abby’s house, coming from somewhere in the kitchen, and assumes that must be where Clarke disappeared to. She told Charlie she’d find her mama for her, but the conversation sounds heated, and Lexa gets the feeling it’s somehow about her._

_“You could just be honest with yourself, Clarke. Starting with the fact-”_

_“That I blame myself?” She hears Clarke’s voice, and her stomach sinks. Her chest feels as though it’s been split open. “I don’t. Of course I blame her!”_

_Lexa opens the door, meeting Raven’s eyes above a head of blonde curls._

_“Clarke-” Raven tries to warn her._

_“You could’ve just said that,” Lexa says, and her voice wavers. “All those times I asked you could’ve just told the truth-”_

_“For fuck’s sake, Lexa! I don’t blame you for- for that. I never did. But the divorce? I do blame you.”_

_“You gave me the papers to sign,” Lexa says._

_“You didn’t leave me any choice,” Clarke retorts._

_“Your daughter is out there,” Raven interrupts. “And this is a fucking Christmas party, so I don’t care how you do it but you’re going to play nice and make this the best Christmas ever, are we clear? Now excuse me, I have a bunch of kids to entertain with coke and mints.”_

_Raven lets the door close quietly behind her, and they’re left staring at each other. It’s been roughly ten months since she moved out, and the pull of longing and pain and love and anger it’s tightly coiled in her chest, as strong as ever._

_It’s all encompassing, what she feels for this woman, and she can hardly believe it’s been ten months since they shared a bed, since they shared a life._

_She can’t believe there was a time the sight of Clarke’s eyes made her sick._

 

* * *

 

“Clarke!”

“Wells!”

They hug, and Lexa looks away. There was a time when she and Clarke shared that same easy affection, even before they started dating, and she doesn’t know why she’s missing it now. Perhaps because it’s been a little over a year now, the second of their daughter’s birthdays after they separated. Perhaps because she knows that now Clarke has someone else.

She knew it would happen. Clarke is gorgeous, and smart, and despite everything that happened between them, how they might have hurt each other, she can attest to that, and the fact that she’s an amazing mother.

She’s wearing her hair shorter, blonde tresses just past her shoulders, straightened. She looks different. Still beautiful.

“Clarke.”

“Lexa.” She says it on an exhale, and Lexa wonders if she might be genuinely happy to see her. They usually avoid it for a reason, it’s been months now since they’ve spoken face to face for more than a few minutes during switch days. “I’m sorry,” Clarke tells her. “I didn’t see you when I got here. Raven opened the door.”

“No, it’s fine. I was just…caught up in the kitchen.” Hiding. “I made cupcakes.”

“Oh, that’s great.” Clarke wrings her hands together, like she does when she’s nervous, before stepping forward and giving Lexa an air kiss, her cheek pressed to hers, her hands on Lexa’s elbow. She steps back before Lexa can find out if she still wears the same perfume.

“How have you been?” Clarke asks.

“I’m good,” Lexa says. “Everything is good.” It’s the first physical contact she’s had from Clarke in months, perhaps a year. It throws her off balance and this, this is exactly why she was avoiding -not avoiding- her ex-wife.

“I’m glad,” Clarke says.

“Mama!”

Lexa silently thanks her daughter for breaking the awkward atmosphere.

Charlie barges in the room, her sneakers lighting up with every step. She jumps into Clarke’s arms, thin legs wrapping around her mother’s waist.

The birthday girl is wearing a blue shirt with a purple tutu, her favorite colors, and the sneakers Lexa got her last weekend. Her hair is just a shade darker than Clarke’s, but they share the same eyes. She was born with them, these bright blue orbs -Lexa waited for them to change color, but they never did.

“I missed you,” Lexa hears, muffled from Charlie’s place on Clarke’s neck. It’s only been two days since she last saw Clarke, and she’s leaving with her tonight, but Lexa knows that to her daughter it’s always difficult being away from one of them.

“Look at my shoes,” Charlie exclaims, puling away. Clarke nearly stumbles with the movement. Charlie's 7 today. Their girl is getting so big.

“They light up,” Clarke says.

“Mommy bought them for me,” Charlie says. “They match the shirt you bought. Do you like them?”

“I think they’re very nice,” Clarke tells her, putting her down.

Charlie pulls her out back by the hand.

 

* * *

  
_(March 12th, 2024.)_

 

_She nods to Clarke, and she turns around without another word. And, God, everything inside Lexa burns, it dissolves in pain, like there’s acid wearing away at her insides. Just looking at Clarke makes everything come back, and Lexa feels like crying, but she can’t._

_“Hey, baby.” Lexa rubs her daughter’s back, the little girl holding on to her desperately._

_“I missed you lots and lots and lots,” Charlie says into her neck, squeezing the life out Lexa. “Mommy,” Charlie whines._

_“I missed you too,” Lexa says, a knot in her throat. It’s only been three days._

_She feels better and worse being away from their home; it’s a relief to be a away from Clarke and she hates herself for it, because it’s her fault her daughter misses her._

_“I love you, Mommy,” Charlie says, and Lexa’s heart squeezes in her chest when she feels a pair of small lips pressing kisses to her cheek. “I love you.”_

_“I love you too.”_

 

* * *

 

Their small group of friends gather on the balcony, drinking and exchanging stories once Charlie blows the candles out. Lincoln sits with River in his arms, the little girl a dead ringer for him but with Octavia’s eyes, a striking combination. The 10 year old girl is like a sister to Charlie, and her daughter disappears inside the apartment once it’s clear River is too tired to keep playing.

Octavia stands talking to Clarke and Wells, and her rounded stomach is impossible to hide. Lexa thinks River will make an incredible big sister, that Charlie will love having a baby around. That Charlie herself would have made a great big sister.

Lexa hasn’t talked to Octavia in weeks, but looking at her figure is easier than she expected.

Lexa feels Abby’s eyes on her, and resolves to go inside to find her daughter. She doesn’t need mothering, not tonight.

She finds Charlie in the kitchen, trying to braid the hair on an American Girl doll. Lexa is no longer surprised by her daughter having things she’s never seen before, simply takes it in stride when Charlie shows her clothes and toys she acquired during her time with Clarke.

“That’s a nice doll,” Lexa says.

“Mama just gave it to me,” Charlie says. She bites her lip, looking up at Lexa, seemingly unsure. “She said it’s from Finn,” she says, and Lexa gets a feeling her daughter is waiting to see how she’ll react.

Lexa smiles tightly.

“That was very nice of him,” she says.

Charlie puts the doll down on the breakfast island. “I don’t like Finn. He talks to me like I’m a baby. I’m not a baby.” Charlie pouts, and Lexa picks her up and sits her on the counter.

“I know,” Lexa says, pushing Charlie’s hair behind her ears. She doesn’t want to think about it at all, doesn’t want to feel validated in her dislike of a person who could be a reasonably good human being.

Charlie’s eyes light up.

“Mommy, I could be your spy,” she says. “I could tell you about Finn!”

“You’re- you’re my kid,” Lexa stutters. “You’re not a spy.” It’s the first damn thing in every website she ever read, don’t try to turn your kid against their other parent, don’t try to get information from your ex from them. Lexa never tried to do that, and certainly never thought Charlie herself would offer. “What kind of movies have you been watching?”

“Mama showed me a movie the other night, the spy fell in love with the villain and they run away together.”

Lexa breathes, smiles faintly. It’s just a movie, she hasn't fucked up as a parent yet. She still remembers the conversations she and Clarke had in their senior year of college, all those thoughts about their life and marriage and children, how they would show them their favorite movies and shape a world for them that was never scary, never mean.

Despite everything that happened, they at least managed to do that.

“You know, that used to be one my favorite movie when I was in college. But I wouldn't tell anyone, because it was so silly.” Clarke had laughed when she found out the big, bad Commander’s favorite film was D.E.B.S, ridiculous special effects included. God, she was just 21 when they met. She was a kid, it was a lifetime ago.

“It’s not silly,” Charlie says. “It reminds me of you and mama.”

Lexa swallows.

It’s their hair, nothing more; brunette and blonde, like she and Clarke. They didn’t get the happily ever after movies promise anyway.

“Oh, so you’re calling me a villain?” she asks Charlie, getting out of her own head. She needs to enjoy the time she has with Charlie before Clarke takes her home.

“No!”

“You sure?” She picks up Charlie and she squeals. Lexa throws her while she still can, and Charlie laughs when she catches her.

“I want to dance, mommy,” Charlie says, panting.

“Okay.”

“Call mama,” Charlie pleads.

“You want to dance with mama?”

“With both of you,” Charlie says. “Like when I was little.”

Lexa remembers it so clearly, a four year old Charlie mushed between she and Clarke’s chest, while they slow-danced together.

“You remember that?” she asks Charlie.

“You’re still little,” Clarke says, suddenly a step behind Lexa.

“More little,” Charlie pipes up. “Littler. _Please_.”

 

* * *

 

_(April 6th, 2019.)_

 

_“Clarke, she’s going to walk. You should bring the camera.” Lexa looks up from her place on the carpet to find her wife rolling her eyes at her. “Don’t do that, she’s going to walk. I can tell.”_

_Charlie’s attention lays with her plastic tambourine, clueless to her mothers’ conversation._

_“You said that yesterday,” Clarke says. “And the day before.”_

_“She had a very convincing walking face yesterday,” Lexa insists, shaking a toy just out of Charlie’s reach to get her to stand up._

_“I think it was just flatulence,” Clarke says. She walks over to Lexa, scratching her scalp. Lexa closes her eyes at the fond gesture, and it’s enough time for the baby to stand up._

_“Lexa!”_

_“Clarke, oh my god-”_

_“I’m going to get-_

_“No, don’t go!” She pulls on Clarke’s sleeve without looking away from Charlie, and Clarke complies, kneeling beside her. “Don’t go.”_

_“Come here, baby,” Clarke pleads. “Come here, Charlie.”_

_Lexa just stares._

_Charlie squats back down, before pushing her hands out and getting back on her feet. A tiny foot lifts off the ground and lands just an inch forward._

_“That’s a good girl, you’re such a big girl, look at you. That’s it!” Clarke is smiling so wide and Charlie is taking her first steps and Lexa’s eyes burn._

_Charlie giggles at her mother’s praise, and does it again, taking two, three more steps until she’s falling on Lexa’s arms. Lexa kisses her forehead, laughing._

_Clarke takes Lexa’s cheek gently in her hand, and wipes away the mirror tears from her cheeks._

_“She did it,” Lexa says. “She walked.”_

_“Our baby is walking,” Clarke whispers. Lexa nods, in awe._

_She leans up to capture Clarke’s lips in a sweet kiss, while Charlie gleefully gurgles between them._

 

* * *

 

Clarke is as soft as Lexa remembers.

Her hand lays over Clarke’s shoulder, the skin warm beneath her hand, and Clarke’s hand rests lightly over her waist. She can barely feel the touch. It’s awkward and stiff, and she’s thankful their free hands are on Charlie, who hangs on to Lexa and seems not to notice the tension.  
  
If it wasn’t for their daughter between the two of them, Lexa would think she was back in middle school, a cousin of hers taking her to the winter formal because her mother wanted her to attend, and Lexa couldn’t be bothered to say yes to either of the two boys who asked. (Her lack of a dating life at age 14 turned out to be Lexa just being overwhelmingly gay.)

But she’s not fourteen anymore, though she doesn’t seem to have her life together any more than she did back then.

They sway gently while Clarke leads the half-hearted dance.

Charlie pulls away from Lexa’s neck to smile at her, the toothy smile that she loves the most, and Lexa decides right then it’s worth it.

The song ends too soon, and they’re hugging Charlie as tight as they can, until Lexa is sure their daughter can’t breath. Lexa can’t either. All air has left her lungs. Clarke tickles Charlie and as she dissolves into laughter, the moment is over.

 

* * *

  

_(August 4th, 2017.)_

  
_“Lexa, I know you’re doing dying to say something, just do it. You’re making me nervous._

_“Well, do you feel any different?”_

_“We were at the clinic yesterday!” Clarke exclaims, but feeling just as nervous as Lexa, just as eager to know._

_“I know. I know it’s silly but- you could be pregnant, right now. Like, an actual baby could be forming in your stomach as we speak.”_

_“I know.” Clarke stretches her hand over the table and Lexa grabs it, rubbing across her knuckles. They share a secret smile, full of expectancy and barely contained nerves._

_“Do you-”_

_“I don’t. I don’t think it would be normal if I felt any different so soon.”_

_“What did you tell Raven and Octavia?” Lexa asks._

_“Just that we’re trying,” Clarke shrugs. “It might not happen this time around,” she reminds Lexa._

_It doesn’t. It takes two more tries, two more appointments and the two weeks of wait between, for the pregnancy test to come back positive. When it does- ecstatic is too small a word to explain it. It feels as though happiness will burst right out of Lexa’s chest._

 

* * *

  

 Wells is the last one to leave, right after Raven. The apartment is mostly clean, nothing like their days in school after a party, and Lexa thinks her college self would be surprised to know she’d be divorced and with a kid now, or that her friends -barring Lincoln and Octavia- would be getting married and having kids as well.

She knows Clarke is in the bathroom -though she’ll deny she kept an eye on her ex-wife the whole evening- and she knows Charlie is in her bedroom. She said she was leaving her presents inside and never came back out.

Sunday is one of their switch days and Clarke’s supposed to take Charlie home, for two days until Lexa picks her up Tuesday afternoon. They very seldom interfere with the schedule, and it’s one thing Lexa’s thankful for, but she still dreads telling her daughter goodbye.

She dreads her empty apartment, the days where her daughter isn’t there to fill the space with her laughter.

Lexa assumes Charlie must have been distracted with one of her newest toys, but when she enters her room she finds her daughter sprawled out on her small bed, deep asleep. There’s a book open on her chest, and Lexa carefully removes it. It’s a thick book for a 7 year old, with small letters but plenty of pictures. The planets and the universe shine off the glossy paper of the $19.99 book someone must have gotten from the Nasa gift shop.

Lexa takes Charlie’s shoes off, changes her into a nightgown barely disturbing the girl. Her big eyes fall open and closed again as Lexa works, and when she finally tucks her in, she’s asleep again. But it’s a switch day, and so it means talking to Clarke.

She finds her ex-wife standing in the middle of the living room, and the image it’s so out of place it hurts.

“I know she’s supposed to leave with you,” Lexa makes clear, and Clarke turns to look at her. “But Charlie’s passed out in her room and I don’t want to wake her.”

“If she stays here tonight then she spends the night with me on Tuesday,” Clarke says.

Lexa didn’t expect to be granted extra time for the sake of it.

“Of course,” she agrees. Clarke nods.

“You can drop her off at the house in the morning,” Clarke concedes. She walks to the bedroom, and Lexa follows after her.

Clarke takes off her heels before entering the room, and the sight shocks Lexa. They’re not familiar with each other anymore. She hasn’t seen Clarke barefoot since they separated, and she never thought she’d see that in her apartment, her home that has never known the presence of Clarke before today.

Clarke presses the barest of kisses against Charlie’s forehead and fixes her sheets carefully, and then she’s walking back out. It must be a lot easier to say goodbye to their daughter when she knows she’s seeing her again the next day.

Clarke sits down in the couch to put her shoes back on, and Lexa stays at Charlie’s door, looking into the room.

“She’s outgrown the Disney bed.” Clarke’s voice is unexpected behind her, close, and Lexa doesn’t turn around. It would be so easy to pretend that things are still alright, that they’re just having a conversation about their daughter, that things didn’t go to hell.

“I know. I ordered a Queen for her, it should be here next Friday…Galaxy quilts and all.” Lexa smiles faintly. After going through dinosaurs and fairies, it’s Charlie’s latest obsession. “I guess…” She doesn’t know why she keeps talking, but she can’t stop now. She swallows. “I guess I just didn’t want to face how big she’s getting.” It’s hard, because it’s Clarke, and it’s been months since she’s actually talked to her, or wanted to -but it’s Clarke. She’s the only person who could understand.

She feels Clarke step closer behind her, the warmth of her body radiating off her, so close to Lexa.

“One good thing we did, isn’t she?” Clarke asks. She sounds wistful, that familiar regretful longing that Lexa’s come to know so keenly.

“She looks more and more like you,” Lexa tells her, and she doesn’t mean for the worlds to come out. But it’s true, Charlie has Clarke’s eyes, Clarke’s nose, her lips and the same cute furrowed brow when things don’t go her way. If it wasn’t for her darker hair, Lexa would have called Abby and asked her to send some of Clarke’s baby pictures, just to see how similar they were.

“She speaks like you,” Clarke says, and she sounds fond of it, maybe. Lexa’s forgotten how kind Clarke can sound in regards to her. She wonders if they both look at Charlie just to find things that remind them of each other.

She wonders if it hurts Clarke too.

“She does everything like you- I think she’ll grow up to be a lawyer.”

“I just want her to be a kid first,” Lexa says. She’ll wonder for the rest of her life if they did the right thing, or if they ruined her childhood. Lexa’s parents were divorced since before she could remember, while Clarke’s parents loved each other until Jake passed. They don’t have anything to compare it with.

Did they do the right thing? Lexa knows it’s pointless to wonder now.

“How are you and Finn?” she turns around to ask. She can’t help it, maybe it’s masochistic but she needs to see Clarke’s face. She doesn’t know what she wants the most: too see her happy, or to see her miserable. Clarke simply raises her eyebrows.

“Charlie mentioned him,” Lexa says by way of explanation. Clarke looks away.

“…we’re just seeing how things go.”

Lexa nods. She looks back to the room.

“What did she say?” Clarke asks.

Lexa has never been one to lie to Clarke. But she would, just this once, if she didn’t think it was in her daughter’s best interest to tell her.

“That she doesn’t like him,” Lexa says. She tries to turn it into a joke, but it falls flat and awkward. She wishes she had just shut up.

“Is that Charlie speaking, or is it you?” Clarke asks, a little bite to her tone. It was too quiet, like the calm before a storm. Lexa thinks maybe this is why she asked, to cement the belief that they did the right thing because not a single conversation can go by without a tense atmosphere. Lexa closes her eyes, and is thankful Clarke can’t see.

“She said he speaks to her like she’s a baby,” Lexa says, and all the while she’s thinking, I don’t know what to do with the fact that you’re moving on. “You know she hates that.”

Clarke is quiet for a moment.

“I’ll talk to him,” Clarke concedes. She’s doing a lot of that tonight, and Lexa wonders why. Truth be told, everything is too bright when she’s with Clarke, everything hurts and burns and she’s terrified of the day it will stop. She wonder if for Clarke, it has already. “Is that all?” Clarke asks.

Lexa nods.

This is them now, Lexa thinks. Only able to be polite when it comes to Charlie, exchanging pleasantries just to get to where it concerns her, squeezing little apologies in between speaking of their daughter because they can’t remember how to treat each other any differently. It’s her fault, too.

Lexa blames herself for the divorce, like Clarke did all those months ago. But she blames Clarke too. For not being more patient, for not loving her enough.

They don’t speak after that. Lexa turns back around to face Charlie’s room. She looks so carefree. The purple night light illuminates the room, and soon enough she’ll have a big girl bed, Queen sized and tall because Lexa isn’t afraid her baby will fall off anymore. Lexa’s buying her an actual desk too, because Charlie’s starting 2nd grade in the fall and she’s going to have real homework to do. She knows from Clarke’s last e-mail that she wants the three of them to go shopping for school supplies too, and Lexa’s already penciled that in for the second weekend of August.

Maybe they did the right thing after all.

“If something was bothering her, why didn’t she tell me directly?” Clarke asks, and Lexa doesn’t know if it’s directed to her, but she answers anyway.

“If she sees you’re happy, she won’t say anything,” Lexa says. Clarke doesn’t answer for a while, until she does.

“She’s like you that way.”

 

* * *

  

  
_(January 13th, 2023.)_

 

_Lexa twists her right hand in the sheets, the other gently grabbing Clarke’s hair. Lexa’s hips undulate of their own accord beneath the sheets, her body climbing towards release._

_“Clarke.”_

_Her wife’s tongue works at her clit, two fingers pumping inside. She’s so close._

_“Clarke, God. I love you. I love- ah. God.”_

_“Who knew I could turn you into a talker?” Her wife’s smirk is devilish when Lexa lifts the sheets. She’s about to nudge Clarke’s head back down, when they a doorknob turning._

_“Oh my God.”_

_“Mama. Mommy!” The barefoot little girl barges in the room, and Lexa’s just glad her hands are clean because suddenly she’s stopping the five year old from climbing on the bed._

_“Baby, what are you doing up?”_

_“Where are your pajamas?” Charlie asks. Lexa can feel Clarke containing her laughter against her stomach. “What’s Mama doing hiding?”_

_Clarke laughs out loud, and Lexa slaps her side with the side of her foot._

_“Mama, what you doing?” Charlie asks, and Lexa grabs her hand before she can pull at the sheets._

_“Why don’t you go to your room and we’ll be there in a second, okay?” Lexa pleads._

_“But-”_

_“And you can go get a chocolate while you wait.”_

_“Really?”_

_“Yes, go.”_

_Charlie agrees right away, her eyes lighting up at the prospect of sweets. She runs out of the room at the same speed she came in._

_“You let her get candy first thing in the morning?” Clarke asks as she comes out, wiping her lips with the sheets. They’re going to have to throw these in the wash. She’s sweating from the heat beneath the sheets, and her cheeks are pink. Lexa loves the sight._

_“The fridge is locked,” Lexa confesses, pulling her panties back on._

_“What kind of parents are we?” Clarke asks, biting her lip to avoid a smile. “Did you come?”_

_Lexa frowns pitifully. Clarke laughs._

_“I couldn’t.”_

_Clarke laughs harder, and in a moment of absurdity Lexa pushes her off the bed. She yelps and grabs Lexa’s arm, bringing her down with her. They fall on a tangle of limbs and sheets onto the soft carpet, laughing._

_“Are you twelve?” Clarke asks, bringing Lexa closer. She kisses her, a difficult feat when she’s smiling so wide._

_“I hope not,” Lexa answers. “Imagine having a wife and a kid at age 12. What a nightmare.”_

_“You’re a nightmare,” Clarke says. Lexa silences the words with her lips, pressing closer to her wife, ignoring the hardness of the floor._

_“You love me,” Lexa insists._

_“I love you,” Clarke tells her, reverently, the way she has since they were just a pair of college kids, like she did when they got married, the way that leaves her with no doubt of how much her wife means it._

_“Me too,” Lexa says._

_“Mommy! The fridge doesn’t open!”_

_They laugh._

 

* * *

  

“An order of pancakes with extra strawberry jam for the birthday girl.”

Lexa places the plate in front of the little girl, the small stack of perfectly done pancakes wafting their smell through the kitchen. Cinnamon and strawberry, powdered sugar and butter. Lexa will sometimes make pancakes for herself, even if she’s not that fond of the sugar, simply because the smell reminds her of home.

“It’s not my birthday anymore, mommy. That was yesterday.”

“Well, since I didn’t make you pancakes yesterday morning we can pretend, okay?”

Charlie smiles, her tongue poking through the hole where her tooth hasn’t finished coming in yet.

“Okay.” She digs in with a grin that will have Lexa in a good mood the rest of the day.

Charlie gets through a pancake and a half before she slows down, becoming pensive. It’s odd for a child that often eats everything in her plate, it makes Lexa frown.

“Everything okay?” she asks, pushing away a few dark blonde curls from her small forehead.

“I didn’t get what I wanted for my birthday,” Charlie says quietly.

“Oh.” Charlie got so many presents last night, from their friends and her grandmother and Kane. From her classmates too, Friday night when Clarke took them to Chuck E. Cheeses. She got presents from herself and Clarke and even Finn as well. She is such a loved little girl, what could they possibly have missed? “And what’s that?” Lexa asks.

Charlie shrugs. “S’okay. I can ask again for Christmas.”

“Christmas is a long while away,” Lexa mentions, trying to get the petition out of her daughter. She’s been known to spoil her rotten, and if it’s something she wants this bad, Lexa isn’t opposed to finding a way to get it for her.

“I know,” Charlie says, sighing.

“What did you ask for?” Lexa asks again, smiling at her daughter’s expression.

Charlie looks up at her, biting her lip with indecision. Charlie is usually so open with her, Lexa gets an inkling of what she might say. A stirring of dread twists her stomach.

“For you and mama to love each other again.” The words are so innocent, so sad, and they break Lexa in half. They bring her back to a year and a half ago, when she and Clarke decided it was over, they bring her back to 8 months after that, when they finally signed the papers. The cold of the room and the stiffness of her suit and the tears that she hastily wiped away and saw Clarke do the same. The constant ‘we’re doing something wrong’ that circled her mind with every signature she laid down, finalizing their life together.

They remind her of every cold lonely night she spent hugging herself in a big empty bed, the love of her life now her ex-wife, and her daughter spending her alloted time of the week away from Lexa.

The words break her because love was never the problem.

“Baby, I love your mom,” she tells Charlie, giving her the truth but hoping to avoid confusing her. She never wants their daughter to think her parents hate each other. “And your mom loves me too.” Lexa knows. From the last time Raven took Clarke out and she got drunk and called her, just after Lexa had put Charlie to bed, she knows. It was five months ago and Lexa still remembers every word. ‘I love you. How did we get here?’

Lexa will always love Clarke, if not for her, for giving her Charlie.

You can’t be as madly in love as Lexa was, share your life with someone, raise a child with them, and then not love them anymore one day. But loving is not the same as being in love, and she and Clarke decided that they wouldn’t explain to their daughter that love faded. They wouldn’t do that to her.

“Then why don’t you live together anymore?“

It’s a valid question. Some nights Lexa feels like a child herself and will ask it, but there won’t be anyone in her empty apartment to answer.

“Sometimes-” she can’t. She won’t tell her seven-year-old daughter that sometimes love is not enough. “It’s complicated.” It’s such a cop-out. It’s the kind of answer her parents gave her when she was being a nuisance, and she swore if she ever had kids she would never do the same. But she is. “Sometimes it’s better if the parents stop living together. It’s a grown up thing, okay?” She’s an asshole. “Do you remember when we explained what a divorce was?”

Charlie nods, pushing her pancakes around her plate.

“I know what it is. I’m 7 now.”

“You’re so old.”

“It’s like mama and you love each other, but like friends. Because you don’t like each other enough to be married.” She says it so matter-of-fact, Lexa cringes.

“It’s a little like that. But you know we love you, we can agree on that,” she tells her daughter gently. It’s the one thing she can offer that it’s true, that wouldn’t be just another stalling tactic to not break her heart. “We both love you so, so much. More than anything. More than all the stars in the sky.”

“Well maybe you can take a little bit of that and share it between the two of you,” Charlie suggests. She looks up at Lexa pleadingly, those big blue eyes destroying Lexa’s heart. She really is her mother’s daughter. “I don’t need all of it,” Charlie insists. “If you had like, extra love, maybe you wouldn’t have to be just friends, you could get married again with white dresses and cake and we could move everything here back home.”

“It’s not that simple, baby,” Lexa sighs. She’ll have to talk to Clarke about this, because Charlie had been fine. After the first few months she’d settled in, and had stopped asking them to get back together.

Charlie’s face falls.

“Come here,” Lexa asks, and Charlie jumps into her arms, her legs wrapping around Lexa’s waist, ruining her pressed suit.

Lexa kisses her cheek twice, tasting strawberry jam.

 

* * *

  

 

_(February 21st, 2024.)_

 

_Charlie’s feet swing from her place on the couch._

_She looks so small as they looked up at then, engulfed by the enormity of the seat and that they were about to tell her. Lexa’s knee keeps bobbing up and down. Clarke wrings her hands in her lap even as she smiles reassuringly at their daughter._

_"You know how Mommy and Mama have been arguing a lot lately, and we always seem to be in a grumpy mood with each other?” Clarke asks, and Lexa sends her a scolding look for not even waiting before starting the conversation._

_Lexa knows it’s one they need to have, but she’s been dreading it._

_Charlie nods._

_They don’t fight in front of her, as a rule, but even a stranger could pick up on the tension whenever they’re in the same room, and if that’s lacking, the pain, sadness and exhaustion are enough to show that something is wrong._

_“We decided we need to take some time to fix that, so we won’t be living together anymore.” Lexa explains._

_“Mommy will be moving to an apartment in a week, and I will stay here,” Clarke says. “You’re still going to see Mommy all the time.”_

_“You’re leaving me?” Charlie asks, becoming alarmed._

_“No! Never.” Lexa swallows, but she can’t push down the knot in her throat. “You’ll live with me some days, and with your Mama some other days, yes? No one’s leaving you._

_“Lexa.” Clarke says carefully. Lexa knows they said they wouldn’t get upset, but she can’t help it._

_“We love you so much,” Lexa tells Charlie, quickly wiping her eyes before tears can fall. Charlie stands up, she’s used to seeing Lexa sad after the past months, but she’s never seen her crying._

_“Mommy is going to live in an apartment, and you’ll have your own bed there,” Clarke explains. “Sit down, honey, let us explain.”_

_Charlie obediently climbs onto the couch again, her big eyes and furrowed brow a testament to how she’s beginning to understand._

_“We’ll live in different places from now on, okay?”_

_“Who will take care of Mommy?” Charlie asks, and Lexa’s heart breaks all over again._

_“I can take care of myself, baby,” she says, even if the past few months have proved the opposite. She can hardly function anymore, and it’s cost her her marriage._

_“You can have my room, mommy,” Charlie says. “You can live in different places and we can all just stay here.”_

_Her daughter is so incredibly smart, but her intelligence is so innocent still._

_“That’s a really good suggestion, Charlie, but it’s not that simple,” Lexa says, and she knows she has to make her understand. “This is a grown up decision we had to make, and it’s done now. We can go see my new apartment in the morning, would you like that?” She offers._

_“And Mama?”_

_“Mama will stay here, at the house.”_

_“Can’t you come too?” Charlie begs Clarke, stepping down from the couch._

_“No, baby. But I’m going to be right here waiting for you when you come back.” Clarke holds her hands, pushes her hair away from her face. Her face is ruddy and wet. “Okay? And that’s how it’s going to be from now on. Do you understand?”_

_Charlie nods, wiping her nose with the back of her hand._

_“But why? Did I-”_

_"No.” Lexa says firmly._

_“No, baby girl,” Clarke repeats. “Sometimes things just happen with mommies. And we're really sorry that it happened to us, but it's not anything you've done. We promise."_

_“Sometimes grown ups are not happy with how they're living their lives and decide they want to live a different way,” Lexa explained slowly, repeating the practiced sentence. “But that doesn’t mean how much we love you has changed. Okay?”_

_“Snuggles,” Charlie pleads, seemingly too tired and sad with the conversation. She throws her arms around Clarke, fully expecting Lexa to follow so they can envelope her in the joint hug she’s used to. “Mommy, snuggles.” Charlie looks alarmed that snuggles time, too, could be over, and Lexa thinks she’s broken her daughter’s heart enough for a day._

_She meets Clarke’s eyes, asking for permission first, and then leans down and hugs Charlie as well. She avoids touching Clarke’s skin as much as possible._

_She’s warm and soft and smells familiar, and it makes Lexa ache because she can’t wait to step away. All the things she loved about Clarke now fill her with pain, and she can’t stand to be this close to the woman._

_When Charlie has fallen asleep, exhausted, they step away -and breathe._

* * *

   

“Can you drop her off at my mom’s?”

Lexa holds the cell phone to her ear, biting her lip. She has never been able to just leave it. She checks Charlie is still watching TV before walking into her bedroom, closing the door.

“Clarke, I told her you’d be at home, waiting for her-”

“Something came up at work, Lexa,” Clarke says harshly. “They called me in, there was a car crash. I’m needed here. And I don’t owe you explanations-”

“When it comes to Charlie you do,” Lexa interjects. “It was your day. You won’t get her an extra day this week because I stayed with her all morning, not if it’s your fault.”

“I’m not going to ask you to make up for today. But we agreed on last night.”

“I know.” She hears Clarke’s huff and keeps talking before a fight breaks out. She’s just tired of them disappointing their daughter. “I’m dropping her off at Abby’s.”

“Okay.”

A beep signals the end of the call, and it’s just enough time for Lexa to push her hair out of her face before Charlie is barging into her room.

“Mommy, are we leaving? Can you have lunch with Mama and me?”

“Baby, there was an emergency at work, okay? Mama’s working right now.”

“Oh.”

“But I’m taking you to grandma’s!” Lexa perks up, the familiar happy face she sometimes has to fake in front of Charlie falling into place. “How about that?”

“Okay.” Charlie smiles. She loves going to Abby’s, especially loves Kane’s Husky. They'd promised her a dog way back when, and like so many other things, it never came to fruition. 

“Yeah?” Lexa extends her hand. “And you’ll get to play with Shadow.”

Charlie holds her hand, grinning.

“Okay.”

 

* * *

   

_(Some day, the week before finals, fall, 2011.)_

 

_“I didn’t pay attention to the class at all.”_

_Lexa looks up from her desk, where she’s busy gathering her stuff to hightail out of there and to her next class, on the other side of the building._

_Clarke stands there, Clarke Griffin, whom she shares this single class with._

_They’d done a group project together, she’d talked to her at a party twice, and they’d toed the line between classmates catching up and flirting, but studying had consumed Lexa, and she had given no further thought to her embarrassing crush on the blonde._

_Her eyes were so blue they made Lexa’s mouth go dry. She was a mess._

_“Clarke.” She couldn’t help a smile. “So…do you want help with notes, or-”_

_“I didn’t pay attention because I spent the whole time wondering how to ask you out.”_

_“Oh.” She’s just- she’s got nothing. Her heart is pounding._

_“Yeah.”_

_“So. Did you-” she swallows, trying to tamper down on her excitement and act like a sensible human being. “Did you figure something out?”_

_“You were leaving so I panicked and decided making a fool of myself would be the best course of action,” Clarke rambles, and it’s goddamn adorable. Lexa’s smiling wide now, and she looks down to her lap to hide it. “Care to tell me how’s that working out for me?” Clarke asks, just a hint of insecurity Lexa has never seen in her before._

_“Why don’t you walk me to my next class, I’ll tell you on the way.”_

 

* * *

   

"Grandma!”

Lexa smiles at Charlie’s eagerness while she climbs the steps of Abby’s house. It’s a nice two story home, a different one from the house Clarke grew up in. When they were just a a year out of college Abby bought a new one with Kane. They married after that, and Lexa remembers Clarke was torn between being happy for her mother and losing her childhood home and the memories it held.

Abby opens the door and in the next second Charlie is jumping into her arms.

“Grandma!”

Lexa smiles at the scene.

“Grandma, where’s Shadow?” Lexa bites her lip. She knew Charlie wouldn’t last five minutes without asking

“She’s out back,” Abby tells her, and Charlie climbs down and sprints into the house. Her excitement makes Lexa wish her apartment allowed pets.

“Abby.”

She doesn’t think about offering a handshake, and promptly accepts the hug Abby gives her. Neither women are that tactile, but after Charlie was born, they became close. After the last two years, she’s the closest Lexa has to a mother.

“Lexa.” Abby squeezes her arms fondly. “It’s been a while. How have you been?”

“I’m good.”

“How’s work?”

“It’ good.” She affirms, and at Abby’s disbelieving stare, she amends. “It’s…work, Abby. It’s okay. I just want to spend as much time with Charlie as possible.” She shrugs. “She’s growing up too fast.”

“It always feels that way,” Abby says. She leads Lexa into the house.

A few of Clarke’s pictures hang on the wall, and Lexa sees herself in the one where they’re graduating from college, her arm around Clarke’s waist, their friends around them and sitting at their heels. Her smile is so big she can hardly recognize herself.

Or perhaps, she can’t recognize herself now.

“What’s on your mind, Lexa?” Abby asks, inviting her into the kitchen. Abby serves her a glass of wine and takes one for herself, and Lexa accepts it, grateful.

She evades the question.

“You didn’t like me at first, you remember that?”

She believes Abby positively hated her for the first six months of their relationship. Lexa was never one to suck up to parents, so it didn’t make it easier, and back then Clarke’s relationship with her mom was a lot more tense, which didn’t help.

“You walk into my house, leather jacket, combat boots, tattoos.” Abby shakes her head. They can hear Charlie playing with the dog outside. “It was the look on Clarke’s face that made me not like you, though. She was twenty, with her eyes on med school, and she looked at you like she couldn’t care about anything else. It terrified me.”

Lexa swallows.

“Well, we know how that one worked out.”

“How long it’s been?”

“A year and four months,” Lexa answers.

“Jesus. A year and a half already.”

“Four months. Just a year and four months.”

 

* * *

   

_(August, 2023.)_

_She feels off the whole morning. She drops Charlie off at kindergarten, and spends the rest of the morning walking around the house, tiding up. She doesn't have to go to the office that day, and maybe that's what has her feeling off kilter. Clarke keeps telling her she works too much, but Lexa is nowhere close to believing her._

_She feels off the whole morning, and the feeling doesn't go away._

_Twelve o' clock finds her doubled over in pain, calling Clarke over and over again from the bathroom floor. She doesn't answer._

_She calls Abby._

 

* * *

   

“What’s on your mind, Lexa,” Abby asked again. And after everything, after how Abby helped her -she couldn’t lie.

“I’m scared they’re going to take Charlie.” The words are so simple, but they encompass everything she’s been worrying about, the reason she’s been avoiding Clarke and her boyfriend. It’s not just losing Clarke, she did that already and she lived, but losing her daughter would kill her.

Her parents are gone, Anya is gone. Her friends are Clarke’s friends. She has no one to talk to, and it’s never bothered her before. Then again, Lexa has never felt as vulnerable as she does these days.

“Clarke would never-”

“It didn’t feel real, you know? Logically, I knew it was over, I signed the divorce papers, I moved out. We share custody of Charlie but …it didn’t feel real. And now with Finn. What happens when they get married? When Charlie has a mom and a dad and a house in the suburbs, what happens to the shitty apartment and the extra mom still on anxiety meds?”

“It’s a really nice apartment, Lexa,” Abby corrects her, distracts her; her former mother in law did learn how to deal with her. Abby gives her a sad smile.

It’s not a fear that Clarke will wake up one day and decide she doesn’t want Lexa in their daughter’s life anymore. It’s not her thinking that Finn will replace her as Charlie’s parent, or even that he can give her things Lexa can’t. It’s none of that. Lexa simply fears she’ll be forgotten, that Charlie herself will stop wanting to come around, that her daughter will pick Clarke and their home and a picture of a nuclear suburban family over the apartment and too-small-bed that Lexa can offer. She really should have ordered a new bed sooner.

“Clarke is never going to take Charlie from you,” Abby repeats. “I know my daughter, and she would never-”

“Do you know Finn?” she asks, she can't help it. If Abby knows Finn then it’s over -not that there was anything to salvage in the first place, but…it didn’t feel real. It still doesn’t feel real, sometimes, that this is her life. This was never supposed to be her life.

“You will always be Charlie’s mother, Lexa. Nothing is going to change that,” Abby says, ignoring her question. Lexa’s stomach sinks. She wishes Abby wouldn’t treat her with kid gloves, but she supposes she earned that. “Look at her birth certificate, who’s name is on there? Certainly not Finn’s.”

    

* * *

      

_(April 28, 2018.)_

 

_“Why don’t we just name her Charlotte?” Clarke offers._

_“I don’t see the point of naming her Charlotte when neither of us like the name, and if we’re going to call her Charlie anyways,” Lexa says. It’s the one name -or rather, nickname- that overlapped on their lists._

_Lexa’s baby names list was too old-fashioned for Clarke’s taste, while Clarke’s list included far too many ‘creative’ names that Lexa couldn’t imagine calling their baby. (“We’re not naming our kid Laykenn, Clarke.”) But Charlie…they both like Charlie. Lexa when it’s short for Charlene, and Clarke when it’s short for Charlize, but still._

_Clarke bites her lip. Her hands roam over her large swollen belly._

_“My aunt thinks its more of a boy’s name.”_

_Lexa snorts._

_“Okay, ‘Clarke’.”_

_“They’re going to ask her what that’s short for for the rest of her life, Lexa.” A smile begins to bloom on Clarke’s face. “She’s going to hate us as a teenager.”_

_“I’ll teach her how to answer,” Lexa says, crawling across the room to the cushion where her wife seats. Lexa rubs her swollen ankles gently, before leaning down to press a kiss to Clarke’s forehead. “It’ll be one of her first words. It’s Charlie, just Charlie. Right after ‘my mommies are the best’.”_

_She kisses Clarke gently, a smile on her lips the entire time._

_“Good luck teaching a baby that; Lexa, just Lexa.”_

 

* * *

      

"How have you been lately?"

"Stop mothering me, Abby."

 Lexa meets her eyes over the rim of her glass. Brown eyes, nothing like Clarke’s, but the same worry reflected in them. The same caring disposition that drove them to help people, to open them up and put them back together. Clarke is so like her mother in some ways.

"It’s just…" Lexa sighs. "It’s still hard."

"I know." Abby squeezes her hand.

Lexa's mother passed away when she was in middle school, and her father followed on her fist year of college. She found out early on that life didn't pull punches, that it didn't amke things easier for anyone. She found a friend in Anya then, a mentor, and lost her too. That it's Clarke's mother who's there for her barely registers, she just feels comforted for the first time in a while. Lexa never thought she'd enjoy spending time with her mother-in-law back in the day, but Abby has become more than that- she's not even her mother in law anymore.

"Is there anyone…?"

"You know there isn’t."

"Do you want there to be. Eventually?"

She can’t. She can’t, she can’t imagine another woman sharing her bed, another woman touching her or buying a house with someone else. She can’t imagine a life with someone who isn’t Clarke. It's been a year and four months, and it's starting to feel like she'll never be able to.

Abby pats her hand.

 "You know...when Jake died, I thought my heart died with him," the woman confesses. "And it did, part of it. But not all. I wasn’t dead."

"How is Kane?" Lexa asks, deflecting. Her throat itches. "I didn’t see his car outside."

"He went fishing with friends for the weekend," Abby tells her, not fooled. "He’s a good man, you know, a good husband. It’s not the same, if that’s what you’re wondering. Jake and I were married for 20 years, raised an amazing child together. But we’re allowed to love again, Lexa. You should know that."

She does know. She just doesn’t want to. Doesn’t think she even could.

"I should be going before Clarke gets here."

Abby sighs. "Okay." She pats Lexa's hand again, and Lexa thinks this is the way they cope without Clarke in the room. Lexa doesn't know how to be comforted all that well, and Abby isn't the most reassuring person, but they manage. A strange sort of care and respect and love has formed there, and Lexa appreciates it. "Charlie! Come say goodbye to your mom."

Abby puts the glasses away, and Charlie comes bounding into the kitchen, pink cheeked and sweaty.

"Mommy!” She extends her arms like she did when she was still a toddler, and Lexa picks her up, settling her against her hip. Charlie rains down kisses on her cheek. "I’m going to miss you lots and lots and lots,” she says, hugging her tight.

“Me too. But I’ll see you-"

“In three days," Charlie finishes for her.

"Yes, and your new bed will be waiting for you."

"Okay," Charlie agrees. She holds on to Lexa, staring at her for a moment. "I love you, mommy."

"I love you too. More than anything." She presses a kiss to Charlie's forehead and cheeks, and sets her down on the breakfast island. Abby will be making her some lunch, Lexa's sure. The sound of a motor comes from the driveway.

Lexa gives Abby a tense smile, waves Charlie goodbye, and

she leaves.


	2. Chapter 2

“What are we having for dinner?”

“What do you want?” Clarke makes an effort to sound cheerful, but after six hours of surgery with a plethora of complications, she’s drained. She just wants to get home, curl up on a blanket with her kid and decompress. “We could order pizza,” she suggests.

“Could we get McDonald’s?” Charlie asks, gap toothed smile making an appearance.

“Okay,” she says. “But we’d have to take it home, okay, baby? Finn’s coming for dinner.”

Clarke sees her face fall through the rear-view mirror, and her conversation with Lexa jumps to the forefront of her mind.

“But I wanted to play,” Charlie whines.

Clarke rubs between her eyebrows.

“I could take you after dance class on Wednesday, what do you say?”

“But I have to leave with mommy…” she says, in that slightly worried way she always does after the most minimal changes to her schedule.

“Uh, no, you’re sleeping at the house with me,” she explains, looking quickly over her shoulder. Charlie is sporting a confused little frown. “We could have another movie night…” Clarke singsongs.

“…okay.” Charlie nods, smacking her lips like a frumpy old man who’s decided something is acceptable. She reminds her of Lexa, on moments like that. “If mommy is okay with it.”

Clarke bites her lip.

“She is, I promise. And you can always call her-”

“I know,” Charlie says. “But I just don’t like mommy being alone. When I’m with mommy you have aunt Raven and aunt Octavia over, and Finn-” Charlie scrunches up her nose and Clarke chuckles despite herself, despite her hard day. Her daughter always cheers her up. “But mommy doesn’t have no one over ever.”

Her daughter can always break her heart, too.

She’s every bit Lexa’s kid, biology be damned.

Clarke was heartbroken, for a good while. And then it was just anger. She was so angry at Lexa for so long. She gave up on them. That anger has faded now, it’s shrunken away until it’s left her feeling empty.

Clarke is trying hard to not feel so empty these days.

“You can Skype mommy,” Clarke offers, thinking of the awkward set-up. She and Lexa have avoided interacting with each other for so long now that it only feels normal. “She could join in the movie night through her laptop.”

“I guess,” Charlie says.

“We’ll figure something out,” Clarke tells her, turning off the street and on to the drive-through. “So what do you want?”

  

* * *

 

_(September 3rd, 2023.)_

 

_Clarke dreads walking through the door._

_It makes her sick, makes her stomach hurt and twist in the worst possible way, because getting home after a long shift and seeing her girls has always been the highlight of her day._

_She takes a breath and opens the door._

_She’s immediately enveloped by a pair of small arms, and she smiles for the first time that day. Her backache from standing for hours on the OR goes ignored in favor of picking up her daughter._

_“Hi.” She kisses her cheek, and Charlie squeezes her. She drops her purse on the couch, looking around the quiet house. “Hey, where’s mommy?”_

_“In the kitchen,” Charlie enunciates clearly, like a big girl. Clarke misses the babbling a little._

_“Okay.” Clarke puts her down on the couch. “I’ll be back in a second okay?”_

_The distance between the living room and the kitchen feels a mile long. She finds Lexa with her laptop open, her back to the door._

_“Before you ask, she had dinner,” is the sentence that greets her, and all of Clarke’s ‘hello’s’ and ‘hey,baby’s’ die in her throat._

_“I’m sorry about last week,” Clarke says instead, her first words to her wife today. She left when Lexa was still asleep. (She called her wife useless last week, and her chest still burns with the shame of it. She called her wife useless because their daughter skipped dinner.) Lexa nods in acknowledgment. “What did you make?” Clarke asks, falsely bright._

_Lexa remains quiet. First mistake._

_“We had pizza,” Lexa says quietly. Clarke hates the quiet most of all. Lexa has still to meet Clarke’s eyes. “There’s some in the fridge for you.”_

_“That’s the third day in a row, Lexa.” She can’t fucking help it. She just needs something from Lexa, and often times anger feels like the only feeling she’s able to give. Clarke’s angry, too, but she’s not taking it out on them._

_“She loves it,” Lexa says._

_Clarke gives her an incredulous look, and this feels familiar, like the long-ago banter bounced back and forth in dorm rooms, like the teasing and joking she misses._

_“I’ve been busy, Clarke,” Lexa says._

_“I know,” Clarke answers softly. “So have I, but…” She doesn’t want to fight. She doesn’t have it in her, she lost a patient today and that never stops hurting, and she can’t fight with her wife right now. She tries another angle, toeing around Lexa like she’s gotten used to doing for the past month. “I thought you were the one crazy about healthy food,” she jokes, willing herself to smile, though it feels awkward. She just wants something, she needs something._

_“Well, we know how much that helped me.”_

_Clarke’s stomach falls._

_“Lexa…”_

_“I’m heading to bed.”_

_Clarke tries to grab her arm before she leaves but Lexa shakes her off. Charlie notices nothing, her eyes on the TV._

 

* * *

 

 “We could go to my uncle’s cabin in Maryland,” Finn suggests. Clarke walks around the kitchen, putting the dirty plats in the sink. Just because they had junk food for dinner didn’t mean she wouldn’t use plates. She picked that habit up from Lexa, and even now, it’s so hard to separate those little things from who she is. They grew together for so long maybe their roots will always be tangled.

“I think Charlie will like it,” Finn says, and Clarke smiles. He’s really making an effort. He’s been nothing but good to her for the past few -has it really been 2 months already?- that they’ve been officially together, but he’s actually trying with Charlie. “Think about it, babe,” he says, taking the plate from her hands and wrapping his arms around her waist. Clarke takes a quick peek behind her to make sure they’re alone.

“A whole week of nothing but nature and-”

“We can’t,” she interrupts him. “I’d have to wait until it’s my long weekend again and ask Lexa for two more days.” Five days is the longest they’d switched up Charlie’s schedule for, for her grandmother’s birthday a few months ago.

“I thought we could go for a week,” Finn says.

Clarke shakes her head.

“She won’t take seven days. I’ll ask for five.” She lays her hands on Finn’s cheeks, rubbing at the stubble there. “We could do five.”

“Clarke…” Finn scratches the back of his neck, taking a step away from her, and Clarke gets the feeling she won’t like what he’s about to say. “I respect your past relationship with Lexa,” he says. “I do. You know that. I just don’t get- I mean… You’re Charlie’s mother, you should get to decide-”

“Lexa is also Charlie’s mother,” she says, and dreads his next words.

“Not like you, Clarke. She didn’t carry her for nine months, she didn’t give birth to her,” he says. “It’s your right-”

“Almost ten months,” she says quietly. “Charlie was born two weeks overdue.” Everything was so much simpler back then. She was happy. She’s trying so hard to be happy now.

“See?” Finn asks, like she’s proven his point.

“That’s not how it works,” she says. “It’s not about who gave birth to her. She’s-” She runs her fingers through her greasy hair. Dinner had been a quiet affair, but her her exhaustion is coming back. “If I’d been married to some guy who couldn't have children, and we used a sperm donor, would you tell me he’s not the father of my child? After he changed her diapers and fed her and raised her for years. Just because they didn't share DNA?”

She doesn’t mean to sound so loud; in truth, she’s just stressed. She looks toward the living room to make sure Charlie is still watching TV. She hadn’t had to explain it to anybody. She and Lexa had been together for so long, had gotten married and invited everyone they knew- it didn’t come up. It’s odd having someone who didn’t know them together.

It’s even more odd she’s thinking this about her boyfriend, who’s staring at her with wide eyes that betray the realization he fucked up about something. Clarke doesn’t have it in her to be offended, and Finn- he’s a good guy. He’s trying. Clarke is trying even harder.

“See?” she asks.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, takes her hand in his own. “I didn’t see it that way.” He rubs her knuckles, and Clarke sighs. She just needs one second to rest, just some sleep and a back rub. “You can always tell me when I’m being an asshole, okay?” Finn offers, and Clarke smiles.

“You can count on that.”

“I know,” he says. “We’ll ask Lexa for five days.”

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

  
_(November 2nd, 2018.)_

 

_Lexa’s nose trails down her collarbones, until she just barely brushes over the swell of Clarke’s breasts. She sighs._

_“What does she even use them for?” Lexa asks, falsely disgruntled. Her lips ghost right over her sternum before moving away from her bra altogether. Clarke fights to keep a smile under control._

_“Eating?” she suggests, sinking further into the pillows. “Growing strong and healthy? They’re literally her only form of sustenance…?”_

_Lexa huffs, and Clarke laughs, sinking her fingers into her wife’s mane of wavy brown hair, and bringing her to her neck._

_Charlie is teething, Clarke’s breastfeeding, and anything in the vicinity of her sore nipples is a no go these days. It’s bothersome to say the least._  
  
_Lexa nips and sucks at her neck, her hands obediently staying below her waist._

_“Turn around,” Lexa whispers in her ear after a moment, and a shiver runs through Clarke._

_“What for?” she asks breathlessly, knowing exactly what Lexa is up to but loving making her spell it out._

_“I’ve been neglecting your ass in favor of your other…attributes, for too long.” Clarke snorts, even as she turns around, wiggling her ass at Lexa. She hears her wife’s breath catch. “This is…this is my chance to rectify that,” Lexa finishes, and to her credit, she only sounds a little choked up._

_“You’re gonna take me like this? Uh, Lex? From behind?”_

_Lexa’s eyes are blown when Clarke looks back, barely a ring of green visible._

_Her panties are gone in a flash, and soon enough she feels Lexa’s wetness against the back of her thigh. Careful fingers sink between Clarke’s legs, and she gasps when Lexa moves with every thrust._

_“More,” Clarke pleads._

_Sweat breaks out on her skin. It’s been so long since they last had sex it doesn’t take her very long to get close, and Lexa’s mouth pressing kisses to the back of her neck and shoulder blades only push her forward on that path. Her breath leaves her in pants, their bodies moving in tandem, and her breasts-_

_“Fuck, my tits hurt. Lexa, hold on.” Her nipples ache with the chaffing from the bra and the sheets and it’s- Fuck. Fucking hell._

_“Okay?” Lexa asks, sitting up and pulling away entirely._

_Tears burn at Clarke’s eyes._

_“Sorry,” she says, biting her lip._

_“No. Clarke?”_

_“I just-”_

_“It’s okay. You can cry if that’s what you need. I’m right here.”_

_The words more than anything make the pressure in her chest release._

_“I don’t know why I’m crying.”_

_She hasn’t felt as out of control of her emotions since Charlie was born, and she hates it, but Lexa is here. She wipes away at the tears leaking from her eyes._

_“You’re tired, you go back to work soon,” Lexa says. “And you said it yourself, your ti- your nipples hurt.“_

_“You still can’t say tits,” Clarke mentions, taking a deep breath and wiping her face clean with the sheets. “You cant even say you want to fuck me unless you're tipsy.” Lexa is all about making love, having sex. She’d blushed bright red the first time Clarke had been positively horny and desperate back in college, and whispered filth in Lexa’s ear. “Have you ever said cunt out loud?”_

_“Clarke, Jesus.”_

_Clarke gives her a faint smile, before it disappears completely._

_“Am I horrible because I can’t wait to go back to work?” she asks Lexa faintly._

_“Only if I’m horrible because I can’t wait to be alone with Charlie most of the time,” Lexa answers._

_Clarke’s eyes pop open._

_“I mean. I’m just a little jealous of you.”_

_“Lexa, my nipples are about to fall off. You don’t want this.”_

_“I want to feel closer to her.”_

_“You’re her favorite,” Clarke insists. “I’m just the milk machine.”_

_“She needs you. I…I want her to need me,” Lexa says, like she didn’t intend to at all. Clarke knows what she’s doing, she’s opening up so Clarke can do the same. Getting Lexa to express her thoughts and feelings used to be like pulling teeth when they were in college, but there’s none of that now._

_“She wants you,” Clarke tells her. “Isn’t that better?”_

_“I guess we’re both a little jealous of each other,” Lexa concedes with a small smile._

_“You’re a little jealous of Charlie, too, don’t lie,” Clarke jokes, laying Lexa’s hand over her heart -and breast._

_Lexa chuckles, small, muted. The quiet little laugh that Clarke made her mission to get out of Lexa when they first started dating._

_Lexa takes back her hand and rubs Clarke’s cheek, and Clarke closes her eyes against the feeling. It’s soft, gentle, so, so caring. Clarke has long known that she can trust Lexa with everything, but she never feels it more keenly than now. This is her soul mate._

_“I’m a little sick with being here all day,” she confesses, still with her eyes closed. “All I do is change diapers and breastfeed and clean and cook. It’s killing me. I want to cut people open, Lexa.” She meets Lexa’s eyes, and doesn’t find any judgment in them. “I want to fix them. I want to tell people their loved ones made it out of surgery and every thing’s going to be fine. I want my boobs to myself for a whole day.”_

_“I know,” Lexa tells her._

_“You know?”_

_“You skyped me three times the other day, love,” Lexa says, and Clarke still aches with the way the soft endearment falls from Lexa’s lip, never rehearsed, never patronizing. Every time Lexa calls her love, Clarke knows she means it. “I know you’ve been getting antsy.”_

_Clarke sighs._

_“I still feel bad about it.”_

_“You don’t have to.” Lexa’s eyes are wide and honest when kisses Clarke’s cheek._

_“Did I ruin the mood?” Clarke asks, just now feeling Lexa’s wetness still on the back of her thigh, the blessed static and quiet from the baby monitor, the sweet drape of the night above them and around them, enveloping them in a muted cocoon of warmth and the feeling of home. She’s thankful that she can bring tears here, but she wishes she hadn’t._

_Lexa looks at her and it makes Clarke’s breath catch still. She knows her hair is a mess, and she didn’t take a shower before bed -but Lexa looks at her like she’s a goddess, and it makes Clarke feel beautiful more than any words could._

_“Never,” Lexa says._

 

* * *

 

  
Clarke closes the door after Finn.

The house is quiet. She left Charlie quietly speaking with Lexa on her cell phone, curled up in her bed -she bought a new one after the divorce papers went through, she couldn’t bear to keep the old one. She walks around the house, turning off light after light.

Before turning out the kitchen light, she fills a small glass with water and opens the back door. It’s cold outside, and it makes her feel better -if not lonelier- than she has all day. She waters the chrysanthemums out of routine.

Her bones feel as though they’re made of lead once she finally comes back inside.

“Did you say goodnight to your mommy?” she asks Charlie, and she nods, eyes drooping closed. “Want to sleep here tonight?” Charlie nods again.

Clarke sinks into her bed, cuddling Charlie against her.

She’s tired, and her side aches when she lays down, but this is the best moment of her day. Everything falls away when it’s just her and her daughter, and Clarke can’t think of anything that could be better. She falls asleep way before that.

 

* * *

 

 

_(February 16th, 2025.)_

 

_She shouldn’t have listened to Raven._

_If she hadn’t listened to Raven she wouldn’t be in a bar right now, hot and uncomfortable and with Lexa’s honey slick voice in her ear._

_Lexa sounds like she’s still asleep._

_Clarke hopes Lexa forgets she ever called, she hopes Lexa thinks she’s dreaming and._

_(To Clarke, it all feels more like a nightmare.)_

_“Hello? Clarke?” Lexa starts sounding concerned, or maybe she just imagines that. It’s been so very long since Clarke heard her sound any way other than angry or sad. She’d ask Raven if Lexa sounds concerned, but she left to go the bathroom, and hasn’t come back._

_“Clarke, is everything okay?”_

_No, she wants to say. Her chest aches. Lexa’s voice makes her dizzier than the vodka shots she’s been downing._

_It’s been a year, an entire year to the date._

_A year since her wife moved out of the home they bought together all those years ago. Where Charlie learned to walked and they got used to sleeping wrapped up in each other. She misses that, she misses Lexa._

_“I love you,” she says, and the three words feel like too much. The other side of the line stays quiet._

_They were supposed to make it. From the beginning, from that very first date where she blushed red but still not as much as Lexa, from every night telling each other to be quiet while they spilled love over the cheap sheets of a college dorm, from their vows to Charlie’s birth to the rest of their hopes and dreams._

_They were supposed to make it. Bad things weren’t supposed to happen to them._

_And when they did…they weren’t supposed to take them down._

_“I love you, Lexa. How did we get here?”_

_She won’t remember the call in the morning._

 

* * *

 

“Charlie, I don’t hear the shower!”

“Me neither!” her daughter answers, and Clarke should probably be something other than amused at the talking back.

She shakes her head as she enters her own bathroom, getting her hair out of the braid she slept in. The water takes a minute to get warm -Lexa always promised to hire someone to look at it, but she never did get around to it. She’s still thinking about Lexa.

It’s just the fact that she saw her at Charlie’s birthday party, that she kissed her cheek. They spoke, and it’s been so long since they spoke, not yelled or fought, or even drunk-dialed. She’d forgotten how amazing Lexa’s eyes are. How they look like they contain worlds inside of them, worlds that Clarke has been privy to before.

Lexa Woods once trusted her more than anyone in the world, and it was one of the best things Clarke felt she’d accomplished back then.

Now…now she’s just trying to move on.

Clarke steps under the spray of warm water, shivering at the sudden change of temperature. She didn’t know how cold she truly was -she never does these days.

She groans as she stretches, pinpricks of discomfort all over her body.

She touches her side. The grueling ache that bothered her the previous day is still present, and she presses further on her tender breast, trying to discover the source of the pain. She’s too busy to worry further about it, especially when Charlie knocks on her door.

“Mama, I’m ready!”

“I’ll be out in a second,honey!” she tells her, over the sound of the water.

 

* * *

 

  
_(May 13th, 2021.)_

 

_“She’s getting so big,” Lexa says._

_Clarke nods._

_In the blink of an eye their baby started walking and babbling and it’s as exciting as it is terrifying._

_Clarke couldn’t lie, her heart broke a little when Charlie stopped being interested in nursing. (Lexa was not-so-secretly glad to be back as sole worshiper of her breasts.) And if Lexa had cried right when Charlie walked for the first time, Clarke had cried later that night, in the comfort of their bed and Lexa’s arms, because their little baby was growing up._

_Lexa is picking up the toddler bed they bought tomorrow after work, and Clarke’s probably going to be more emotional about putting the crib into storage than Charlie herself._

_“I can’t believe she’s three in a month,” she says out loud, both to herself and to her wife._

_“We could enroll her in ballet lessons,” Lexa says, quietly. “Gymnastics. Football. Golf.”_

_Clarke smiles. She walks behind Lexa, pressing a kiss to her cheek before wrapping her arms around her waist. “God, not golf.”_

_Lexa’s hands cover her own, and Clarke rests her chin on Lexa’s shoulder._

_“She could be an Olympian,” Lexa says._

_“She was sucking her own foot yesterday,” Clarke deadpans._

_“Even Simon Biles did that, I’m sure.”_

_Clarke shakes her head. She doesn’t want to think too hard about Charlie possibly becoming older and bigger than she already is, can’t even picture her going to school and dating and eating pasta without staining both her cheeks._

_“Mommy and me dance lessons,” Clarke mentions, and Lexa perks up. ”Do you think she’d like that?”_

_Charlie isn’t the most coordinated toddler -Clarke wonders if there’s even such a thing- but she likes shaking her bum to whatever rap music Clarke listens to while she gets in the mood to paint, which makes her laugh -and Lexa cringe. Maybe she’d like dance lessons. Neither she nor Lexa particularly wanted a ballerina, but Clarke thinks it might be good for her -not to mention freaking adorable._

_“You think they’d take both of us?” Lexa wonders with a smile._

_“Yeah. We could switch every weekend, see how long it takes for the other moms to notice.”_

_Lexa snorts, and Clarke kisses her neck._

_Lexa pays no mind to her antics, her eyes on the sleeping toddler inside the crib._

_“I could just look at her all day,” Lexa says._

_Clarke smiles._

_“Me too,” she tells Lexa, then pinches her waist. “But not right now, I’m scrubbing in for a lung transplant in the morning.”_

_“Sounds important. I can’t believe I’m married to a hot-shot surgeon.”_

_“You’re so lucky.”_

_“I am.”_

_Clarke tightens her arms around Lexa._

_“I’m so lucky.”_

_“You’re sappy tonight,” Lexa mentions._

_“You were the one just planning our kid’s Olympian future five minutes ago,” she tells her, nuzzling the place where her shoulder meets her neck. She smells like soap and clean clothes and Lexa, and Clarke sighs happily. This is her family, and she’s so incredibly grateful, every single day. She’d never thought she’d feel love as strong as when she kissed Lexa for the first time, and when Charlie was born…all she thought he knew went out the window._

_Clarke used to think people couldn’t love someone more each day, that once you loved someone it was a fixed thing, a done deal. That it couldn’t grow and expand until it felt like it was too large a thing for a human ribcage to contain. She used to think love could fade._

_Her girls constantly prove her wrong._

_“What are you thinking about?” Lexa asks, tapping her fingers against Clarke’s wrist._

_Clarke swallows, her eyes on their sleeping daughter._

_“How I want to do this all over again. Is that crazy?”_

_“No,” Lexa says, and Clarke can’t see her face but her voice sounds a little wistful, a little tight. “Me too.”_


	3. Chapter 3

_(Fall, 2013.)_

_She runs her fingers over Clarke’s back._

_Her skin is cold with dried sweat, which the room faintly smells off as well. Most of all, it smells like Clarke. The small space is inundated with the scent of her hair -that shampoo she likes, that always has Lexa pressing her nose to the nape of Clarke’s neck and breathing in. It’s this 2-in-1 apple monstrosity, Lexa knows, because Clarke is so busy she doesn’t have time to devote to a hair care regimen like Lexa’s -and because they did it in her shower last week, and Lexa knocked over the bottle when she came._

_Clarke’s skin smells like vanilla under Lexa’s nose, and her lips taste like cherry from the lip gloss she borrowed from Lexa._

_Lexa used to hate her dorm room’s shitty ventilation system, but she loves it right now._

_Anya would have teased her to death for ‘putting out on the third date’. Now, it’s the fourth time she and Clarke have been together, and Lexa doesn’t think it will ever be less intense or exciting or wholly overwhelming._

_Now if she could only get to sleep and make it on time for her 8am class in the morning._

_She lies with her back to the door, on the right side of her bed. She usually sleeps on the left. Her back to the wall, her eyes able to look at the room around her as she falls asleep. Though no one ever comes in that she hasn’t invited, it gives her a sense of tranquility. It makes Lexa feel grounded in her space. Of course, Clarke has never slept here before, so she couldn’t know._

_Lexa didn’t think sides of the bed even mattered (though she’s never dated anyone for long enough for them to pick one) so she tries to drift off, but it isn’t happening._

_Clarke looks tired, and so placid as her eyes drift close. Lexa would rather not sleep and avoid missing a second of it._

_“What’s wrong babe?” Clarke asks, eyes opening slightly, voice laced with sleep. Clarke always notices._

_“It’s nothing,” Lexa tells her, running her fingertips across Clarke’s naked shoulder. It feels so right, to be here with her right now. Their legs intertwined and their bodies leaning towards each other beneath the sheets. They fit._

_Clarke opens her eyes, and lovely blue stares back at Lexa._

_“Really?”_

_“Just can’t sleep,” Lexa says simply, and raises herself up to kiss Clarke on the cheek. Just because she can._

_“Aren’t you tired?” Clarke asks, tangling her fingers in the hair at the nape of Lexa’s head. Lexa wants to moan at the feeling, but keeps it in. “Then I didn’t do my job properly.”_

_Lexa shakes her head._

_“It’s just I usually don’t sleep with my back to the room,” she tells Clarke. “It’s weird. Go to sleep.”_

_“No, tell me.” Clarke opens her eyes wider, trying to keep herself awake. She’s all smudged eyeliner and sex hair, and Lexa hates that it really does it for her._

_“I don’t know,” she tells Clarke, shrugging. “It just feels like…something is going to get me.”_

_“Like a monster?” Clarke teases._

_“No, I don’t know.”_

_Lexa closes her eyes, embarrassed._

_She opens them at once when she feels weight on top off her, the now-familiar curves of Clarke’s body pressing her into the mattress. She plops down on Lexa’s other side, effectively switching sides in the small twin bed._

_“Better?” Clarke asks._

_Lexa backs up against the cool wall, which already helps her fall asleep, she’s facing her darkened room, no blind spots. Even more, she’s facing the girl she’s falling for._

_It’s kind of perfect._

_She nods, because words feel silly. It’s a small thing, a very tiny minuscule thing, but she likes Clarke more for it. She kind of loves her. Clarke curls closer to her, one arm around her waist and her face against her neck. Lexa sighs when Clarke presses a kiss to her sternum._

_“Don’t worry baby, I’ll protect you,” Clarke says. “Nothing is going to get you while I’m here.”_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 Lexa’s shoes come off at the door.

 Her jacket follows, and her shirt after that, but the tension in her shoulders isn’t as easy to remove as layers of clothing. She’s a rare combination of exhausted and antsy, relieved that the tense past few days are over, but not knowing what to do with herself now that they’ve passed.

 Planning Charlie’s birthday party took over her time for the past week. Buying presents, decorating, looking up cupcake recipes before finally caving in and asking Abby for the one Clarke always used, and that she knows is Charlie’s favorite.

 Concentrating on her daughter allowed Lexa to ignore certain things, like it always did.

 But now Charlie is with Clarke, and so Lexa has a vast amount of free time to dedicate to herself, to work. To going through her mail again, and finally attempting to read the letter she’s been putting off for the past week.

 She knows what it says.

 She recognized the name of the firm right away, Gustus mentioned them to her offhandedly over a year ago, and at the time it sounded like a lifeline to Lexa. Now, she doesn’t know what it means. Lexa feels the same fight or flight response she did when she was in college. Leave before you’re left behind. Or fight. But nowadays there’s nothing to fight for.

 And so the letter sits collecting dust in her bedside drawer, unopened.

 She decides to ignore it for one more night, lest it festers on her mind and tricks her brain into giving her nightmares. She’s too tired to cook dinner so she resorts to pulling off the rest of her clothes, quickly brushing her teeth, and falling into bed. She curls up around her empty stomach, pulling a blanket around her shoulders. Her bed isn’t big, she wanted nothing to even remotely resemble her married life, but it still feels miles wide, cold as it is. The cold used to help her get to sleep when she was younger, but after years of Clarke curled around her and then their daughter sneaking into their bed, Lexa feels like she can never get warm enough. (Clarke’s ruined her.)

 Ten minutes laying there, wide awake, have her reaching for her pills.

 She falls asleep.

   

* * *

 

  _(October 31st, 2018.)_

_Lexa stretches her arm, expecting to feel a warm body next to hers -but the bed is empty. A quick look at the clock tells her it’s 11:47 pm, so she could really just roll over and go back to sleep -but she won’t. She never does._

_They fell asleep at 9pm sharp, after putting an exhausted, fuzzy Charlie to sleep. They spent the afternoon with Abby, and then went trick-or-treating with the Blakes and the Jahas. Just for an hour, before they got worried the weather was getting too chilly for Charlie._

_Lexa gets out of bed as the last few minutes of her daughter’s first Halloween go by._

_After a quick look at the nursery proves it to be empty, she finds Clarke in the living room couch. Her footsteps announce her, and Clarke looks up, tired but smiling at her. Lexa treasures that look._

_“Hey,” Clarke croaks out, her voice a little rough like it always gets after a holiday. “Did I wake you?”_

_Lexa shakes her head no._

_She sits next to Clarke on the couch, wrapping her arm around her wife, her eyes intent on the baby at her breast._

_“Hungry monkey?” she asks Clarke, resting her head on her shoulder. Clarke nods, her thumb wiping the last smudge of black paint from Charlie’s tiny button nose. They wondered out-loud if they were failures for being too tired to give their child a bath before putting her to bed, but after deciding it would be traumatizing for everyone involved, they simply changed her and let her sleep._

_She was a monkey for Halloween, a perfect chubby little monkey with a painted on black nose, even her carrier was decorated with leaves. Both she and Clarke were a couple of cave-women, with matching leopard-print dressed and plastic bones in their hair. Lexa winces just thinking about detangling her hair in the morning._

_“I still don’t know how a couple of cavemen ended up with a monkey for a child,” she mentions offhandedly, and Clarke snorts._

_“Reverse evolution?”_

_“That is so not how that works.”_

_“How about she wasn’t our child, she was our…pet?”_

_“Why would cavemen have monkeys as pets?”_

_“Go back to sleep.” Clarke shakes Lexa’s head off her shoulder, and gives her a false withering look. Lexa smiles sheepishly at her, pressing a kiss to her cheek. It melts Clarke, like it always does. Careful not to jostle the baby, she leans back against Lexa._

_“You can pick the costumes next year, honey,” Clarke tells her._

_“How long do you think she’ll let us dress up to go trick or treating with her?” she asks Clarke. “How long until we’re relegated to waiting in the street on our jeans?”_

_Clarke pretends to think it over._

_“At least until she’s five. Maybe seven if we play our cards right,” Clarke says. “And speak for yourself, I’m not going to stop dressing up any time soon.”_

_Lexa chuckles, muffled against Clarke’s shoulder. She hears the tell-tale sound of Charlie unlatching, and when it isn’t followed by crying, sits up._

_“Is she done?” she asks under her breath, eyeing their sleeping daughter._

_“For now,” Clarke says, fixing her breast back inside her shirt._

_“I got her,” Lexa says, taking Charlie from Clarke’s arms. Lexa had been trembling with nerves the first time she held her,. She remembers being afraid she wouldn’t be careful enough or she’d drop her or hurt her somehow. But now nothing feels more natural. “I’ll put her down, go back to sleep.”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“Yes, go back to bed, love.”_

_She and Clarke share a quick kiss before they go on separate ways, Clarke back to their bedroom and Lexa to the nursery. It’s a statement to how tired Clarke is that she didn’t come with Lexa, because they usually put her to bed together, but Lexa understands. She feels dead on her feet too._

_Thankfully, Charlie doesn’t fuss. She remains asleep and undisturbed after Lexa puts her down, perfect little mouth pursed into a pout -a round against Clarke Griffin’s boobs will knock anyone out._

_Lexa resists the urge to run her finger over the downy, pale hair on top of her head; Clarke would never let it go if she was the reason their daughter pulled her out of bed again. She double checks the baby monitor before leaving the room._

_“She didn’t wake up?” Clarke asks her when she walks through the door of their bedroom._

_“No.” She climbs into bed, curling around Clarke. She sighs at the warmth and soft give of her wife’s body._

_“So we can sleep.” Clarke hums at the back of her throat. “That sounds awesome. I love it.”_

_“How about we do it, then.”_

_“Smart ass.” Clarke burrows further into her, sighing against Lexa’s neck. “Our baby’s first Halloween,” Clarke says, wistful. “Soon enough her first Thanksgiving. First Christmas.”_

_“I know. Time flies by. I still can’t believe we actually have a tiny human sleeping in the other room, and she’s all ours. And she was a monkey for Halloween. She’ll probably be the third female president.”_

_“Third?”_

_“Well, I like to think we’ll have another one before Charlie.”_

_Clarke chuckles, low and gravelly and tired, before leaving a wet kiss on Lexa’s sternum. Lexa rubs her shoulder. It’s been quite a long day._

_“I mean,” Lexa adds, sinking further into her pillow. “She’s 4 months old, and she’s already doing things. Kinda puts it all in perspective, doesn’t it?” Lexa swallows, sure it’s the lack of sleep making her emotional. “Hey, I love you.”_

_“I love you too,” Clarke tells her. “If I had a harem of cave woman wives you’d be my favorite._

_“Really?”_

_“Yeah, top pick.”_

_Lexa laughs, a little exhausted exhalation._

_“Goodnight Clarke.”_

_“Night, my beautiful cave woman.”_

* * *

  

_Dear Lexa,_

_It is with great pleasure that I am writing to you to offer you the position of Senior Commercial Litigation Attorney with Polis Corporation. We are confident your experience will be an asset to our company._

_Please review the attached document outlining your salary and benefits, and sign where indicated. We will contact you once we have received the paperwork back as to your start date._

_We look forward to welcoming you as part of the Polis Team!_

 She reads the letter again. Its content doesn’t change from the other half-dozen times she’s read it. She’d almost forgotten about applying to Polis Corporation. She’d been in a bad place, the holidays before she and Clarke split up for good. Gustus had mentioned the in-house spots opening up in passing, and to Lexa it had felt like a lifelineen, an escape from -and she feels ashamed to even think it now- her home life.

 After all, Polis Corporation is located in Philadelphia, 2 and half hours away.

 She’s not sure what she wanted back then, apart from uprooting herself from the situation and a place with bad memories. Perhaps she thought a new apartment in a new city would be good for her family. Or maybe she was simply making an escape plan for the inevitable end before it happened. She wants to believe it’s the first. She’s not sure it is. 

She’d been so used to dealing with loss on her own, first with her mother, then her father, and later Anya, that she didn’t know how to do it with Clarke by her side. Her first nature was to stop feeling, to push the hurt away. She didn’t care back then that she was pushing away her wife, too. It’s the shameful truth, the bare bones of it. She didn’t know how to act, what she wanted. 

She’s not sure what she wants now, either. But she’s hoping visiting Indra will help her decide. 

Lexa leaves the firm for her appointment at 12:00 sharp, giving her enough time to stop by a fast food joint and get a salad, and still make it to Indra’s office in time. In true psychologist fashion, the stern woman disapproves of Lexa skipping meals, regardless of how busy Lexa might be.

 She only started seeing her somewhat consistently about 5 months ago. Before that, a single visit to her office had kept Lexa well and away for three months, time in which she and Clarke signed the divorce papers, finalizing the proceedings. 

After that, Lexa didn’t see the point in talking to someone at all. 

But now, she takes a half-day from work to go every two weeks -which Gustus approves off- and she actually feels better.

 She went through a few sessions where talking to Indra felt worse than pulling teeth (which Lexa knows all about from pulling Charlie’s, because Clarke -the surgeon- gets squeamish when it comes to their daughter hurting). But these days Lexa can actually articulate how she feels, even if she tries to convince herself that she only goes because Indra’s psychiatrist friend writes her prescriptions.

 Talking to someone, getting her feelings out there…it actually helps. Though she didn’t always feel that way.

 

* * *

 

_(November 17th, 2023.)_

_Her skin feels like it’s not her own. Her hands are so cold. Her heart pounds unsteadily while they sit on the fake leather chairs in the waiting room._

_Lexa looks around, at the man who got here after them, his perfectly pressed suit and combed hair. Lexa wonders what the tremble in his hands, that mars his otherwise perfect appearance, is hiding. She looks at the receptionist, and imagines how many screwed up people she sees march in on a daily basis._

_The woman looks up, and Lexa looks away._

_“I can’t do this,” she tells Clarke under her breath._

_“Yes, you can.”_

_“Clarke-”_

_“Lexa, please. If not for me, then for Charlie. Please, do this for our family.” Clarke holds her wrist, and Lexa nearly jumps. It’s the first time they’ve touched that week. “I just…I don’t know what else to try,” Clarke tells her, apologetic. Her eyes are kind._

_Lexa nods. Clarke slips her sweaty hand in Lexa’s cold one, and Lexa realizes she’s not the only one who’s nervous. She doubts Clarke feels as sick as she does, though._

_They get called into the office five minutes later._  
  
_Clarke shakes hand with the woman inside, and all Lexa can hear is her blood beating in her ears while she sits down, Clarke’s hold on her hand so tight it hurts. She barely registers shaking the woman’s hand herself._

_She doesn’t want to be there._

_“Clarke, we spoke on the phone.” They exchange pleasantries, and Lexa notices the dark wood of the office, the plush carpets. The entire place has been decorated to give a sense of familiarity, she’s sure, of comfort. She feels nothing of the sort._

_“Lexa? May I call you Lexa? I know Clarke made the appointment, and I would like all of us to feel comfortable.”_

_Lexa nods._

_“So, Lexa. What brings you here today?” The question is simple, but she can’t answer it. She doesn’t want to be there._

_“That’s quite obvious, isn’t it?” she asks, opting for the path of least resistance. She feels Clarke’s hand go slack in hers._

_The therapist nods, and Lexa is oddly angry at it. (She’s angry at a lot of things.) It feels like she’s a teenager, sent to the principal’s office. Like she’s 13 again and her mother has just died, and she’s been sent to a therapist to stare at the floor until her allotted hour is done because her father doesn’t know how to deal with a moody pre-teen. It makes her angry with herself because she’s not acting any differently than she did back then._

_The thing is it worked. It worked in middle school, as she got over her mother’s death. Therapy didn’t do a thing for her. Keeping her feelings in check did, and it worked through high school. In college too, after her father passed. Love was weakness. It kept people away, kept her from getting hurt._

_And then she met Clarke._

_“Is it?” The woman asks. Lexa has already forgotten if she ever heard her name._

_Clarke squeezes her hand. It shakes Lexa out of her own head, and she hates that._

_“Lexa, pardon me for the intrusion, but you seem uncomfortable with Clarke holding your hand,” the therapist says, and Lexa can’t believe Clarke paid for this. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”_

_Lexa doesn’t look at her, nor at Clarke. She can’t focus on any one thing. Clarke lets go of her hand._

_“We’re not…we’re not physically close, anymore,” Clarke explains. The therapist takes out an honest to god notebook and writes something down. Lexa wants to flee._

_“So you don’t touch?”_

_“No,” Clarke answers._

_“Lexa, what do you think about Clarke’s assessment?”_

_There’s a knot in her throat, and she’s not sure why._

_“She’s not wrong.”_

_The woman writes something else on her fucking notebook._

_“So, Clarke, what brings you here?”_

_Clarke doesn’t answer for a minute, and Lexa wishes she’d never looked up to find out why. Clarke’s eyes are red, and Lexa doesn’t know when that happened._

_“I want my wife back,” Clarke says, shrugging, but her voice sounds raw. The therapist offers her a box of kleenex. It’s as though Lexa is seeing the scene through glass, muted._

_“What do you mean, when you say you want her back?” The therapist asks. “Lexa is sitting right here.”_

_“We don’t talk anymore,” Clarke says. “We barely even look each other in the eye most days. I don’t feel like we’re an ‘us’ anymore.”_

_“So communication, would you say that’s the most important issue for you?”_

_“Yes,” Clarke says. “I want us to talk. I want us to work through things together.”_

_Lexa hears the words, but she can’t react to them. All her mind comes up with is their last fight, the last screaming match, the last deadly silence. The bad overwhelms the good, drowns her to a point where she can’t feel worse about her wife crying than she feels about herself._

_“Would you say you avoid talking about difficult subjects?” The therapist asks. “On the phone, Clarke mentioned a very difficult situation you are going through, and which she believes is the…source, of your current problems. Would you say this is right, Lexa? This is a safe environment to explore your feelings, there are no wrong answers here.”_

_“Yes,” Lexa says. Her chest begins to ache._

_“It’s not the source of our problems, how Lexa’s dealing with it is-”_

_“Let’s not bring…accusatory statements into the conversation,” the therapist interrupts Clarke. “We could try going with ‘I feel like this...this thing you do, could be improved.’ And Lexa can share what she thinks about it, and in turn, what you could improve.”_

_Lexa snorts._

_It doesn’t help cover up the feeling swelling in her chest. A part of her feels this is bullshit, yes, but the majority of her wants to jump out of her skin. She can hardly breathe._

_She feels naked, exposed- her pain bared for this stranger to see._

_“I feel like Lexa doesn’t trust me enough to share her feelings, and I’d like for her-” Clarke stops, and when Lexa looks up those blue eyes are once more focused on her. The ache blooms and grows. It hurts. It finally hurts, reminding her of everything she feels for the woman sitting at her side. “I’d love for you to just talk to me.”_

_The atmosphere feels even heavier, if that’s possible. Lexa can’t believe she’d forgotten the exact shade of Clarke’s eyes when they’re inside, so different from their color when the sun shines on them._

_They’re so, so blue. She’s drowning._

_“I do trust you, Clarke.” It’s the truth, but it feels wrong in this strange couch, beneath the fluorescent white lights and in the present of a woman she’s never seen before in her life. It’s still the truth. Her body acknowledges it, the pounding in her head slows down. This is her wife, the mother of her child. Clarke’s the love of her life, and she’s not sure how things got so fucked up but she trusts her._

_She loves her._

_That has always been the truth._

_“That’s wonderful, Lexa.” The spell is broken with the therapist’s voice. Lexa looks away from Clarke, pulls into herself. Her whole being feels raw. “This is communication. Sometimes putting our feelings out there can be a terrifying experience, but it’s what marriage is all about, right?”_

_She sees Clarke nod out of the corner of her eye, and it starts to make her angry, all over again. (She’s angry at a lot of things.)_

_“Returning to Clarke’s initial judgment of why you’re here. Do you think that’s correct, Lexa? Or would either of you say there were issues before…”_

_Lexa tunes out. Her throat grows dry._

_The feeling of being exposed intensifies, and she can’t deal with the pity in the therapist’s eyes._

_It brings it all back._

_She gets up and leaves._

_She doesn’t want to think about it, she doesn’t want to talk about. She doesn’t want to remember -she can barely say it out-loud. She can’t do this._

_Clarke should have never made her do this._

 

* * *

  

“I don’t know what I was thinking when I applied for the job,” she tells Indra. “And I hadn’t thought about it again. They must have saved my application until now, and they want me. But it’s not an option.”

 “It isn’t?” Indra asks, in her familiar tone, slow and deep. It took Lexa a while to accept that she would be asked ridiculous questions to encourage her to speak, and now she does.

 “Of course not. I can’t leave. Though I wish-” She won’t say that. “Everything here reminds me of Clarke and our marriage and what happened, but I can’t leave.” That got easier too, after a while. Speaking freely. Not pretending that Clarke wasn’t a huge part of her life, and part of why she’s here.

 “But perhaps moving away would be good,” Indra suggests. “A fresh start.”

 “What about my daughter?”

 “Children can thrive under various scheduling arrangements. For a mature 7 year old, a week with each parent could work perfectly.”

 It sounds so simple Lexa can hardly believe it. It isn’t. 

“I’d be 2 hours away from her when she’s with Clarke, and Clarke would be 2 hours away from her when she’s with me. I can’t do that to Charlie.”

 “You cant keep going like this either, Lexa,” Indra tells her. “If moving is not an option, what do you think could help you move forward?”

 She thinks about it every minute of her day.

 “I don’t know.”

 “Do you think taking this job would help?” 

She’s thought about it. The minute she received her mail and saw the Polis Corporation logo outside an envelope. A new city, new people who don’t know her nor Clarke, who don’t pity her. She’d be forced to make friends who aren’t Clarke’s friends, work for people who don’t feel like family how Gustus does, have co-workers who’ve never met her ex-wife. She could even find a new yoga studio.

 Sometimes, only sometimes, she thinks down the line she could find someone else.

 It’s motivated by loneliness, maybe, or the desire to make Clarke jealous -which she wouldn’t be. Maybe the thought that she wouldn’t have to feel so empty. Maybe she could meet someone at a coffee shop and get along with her, learn to love her. But the faceless blonde stranger in that daydream always ends up being suspiciously familiar.

 Lexa thinks it would be easier to fall in love with Clarke a dozen times than ever like someone else. But she could try, maybe. Somewhere else.

 A single look at a picture with her, Clarke, and Charlie as a baby squash down those thoughts every time. Lexa can’t do that again, and it wouldn’t be fair to any woman, anyhow, to love something so broken. She can never fall in love with someone like she did with Clarke. That part of her doesn’t work anymore.

 She doesn’t work right.

 “I don’t know,” she tells Indra, who doesn’t hurry her. Lexa is paying her to listen, of course, but Indra has learned how she works by now. “I think…I could do without the memories.” And having to see Clarke rebuild her life with someone else. “But I can’t leave Charlie.”

 “You wouldn’t be leaving her,” Indra tells her, and it’s not what Lexa wants to hear. Because then she has no reason to stay but a desire to punish herself. Or a desire to still be around Clarke. “You have to understand that having a healthy mother is the best thing for Charlie,” Indra says. “Children pick up on a lot, even if we try to shelter them.”

 She breathes through the sea of possibility in front of her. Moving on has always felt like a pipe dream.

 “Can I think about it more?”

“Of course, Lexa. I just want you to realize that you have a lot of options, and I would like for you to explore them, think about them…Don’t just shut them down because you feel afraid. Sometimes we have to work through fear to find really great things in life,” Indra tells her.

 But Lexa had a great thing, and she ruined it.

 “Now, let’s talk about your prescription. Have you been sleeping better?”

 

* * *

 

  _(May 13th, 2021.)_

_“What are you think about?” Lexa asks, tapping her fingers against Clarke’s wrist._

_Clarke’s eyes are on their sleeping daughter, and Lexa’s eyes are on her wife._

_“How I want to do this all over again. Is that crazy?”_

_“No,” Lexa says, and her throat feels a little tight. “Me too.”_

_“Lexa…”_

_“I mean it.” She’s never been more sure of anything. Clarke turns around, and Lexa feels as nervous as she feels elated by Clarke’s expression. They’re on the same page. Lexa hadn’t brought it up, but she’d been thinking about it for some time, and now she’s sure so has Clarke. “No sleep, dirty diapers, spit bubbles -I want to do it all again.”_

_“Yeah?” Clarke’s eyes water, and Lexa feels her throat close up._

_“I want another baby,” she says, sure, and it feels like the first step, like the moment they’ll look back on where they decided._

_" M_ _e too.” Clarke reaches out to hold Lexa’s hands. “I’ve been thinking about it, I wanted to ask you-”_

_“Yes,” she says vehemently, and then her arms are around Clarke -their arms are around each other. And Lexa’s on cloud nine. Clarke holds her tight, and Lexa presses a kiss to her shoulder before pulling back._

_“On one condition,” she tells Clarke. “This time, I want to-”_

_Clarke kisses her before she can finish the sentence._

* * *

  

“Would you like to have dinner tonight?” Wells asks, and the sounds in the background make it clear that is already underway. Metal pans clanking, kids laughing, much more ruckus than her home ever had.

 “Not tonight, no,” Lexa declines. “I’m busy.” She’s not, but she has an odd relationship with going over to Wells and Sasha’s these days.

 She became friends with Wells almost since she and Clarke started dating, and in turn, Lexa met Sasha when she and Wells started dating. She caught the bouquet at their wedding, though she and Clarke were already engaged -Sasha had called the flowers ‘technically not wrong’ since Lexa would be getting married next. 

She’s a good person, they’re both good people, her friends. Their two boys call her ‘aunt Lexa’. But she still feels out of place sometimes, in their warm, happy home. She doesn’t forget that Wells was Clarke’s friend first, that they grew up together and whatever loyalty he might feel for her will always be overshadowed by that. 

Besides, she knows tonight Wells is only inviting her because he knows she’s lonely when Charlie is gone.

 That’s how Lexa realizes he must have spoken to Clarke, because if they hadn’t changed the schedule, she’d be with Charlie tonight. She cringes to think of Clarke pitying her, asking her best friend to invite her to dinner because she feels sorry Lexa is all by herself.

 “Work getting hard?” Wells asks, shaking Lexa out of her thoughts.

 “Yeah, you know how it is.” 

“Not really. You know no one works as hard you, Lex.”

 She smiles faintly. He’s not wrong, and her therapist would be quick to call her work schedule unhealthy and a coping mechanism, but Wells is just trying to tease her -which almost hides the real concern in his voice.

 She and Wells got along the minute they met. He would watch games with her and Anya when Clarke was too busy revising for exams, and even now, he still made it a point to call every once in a while. Lexa hadn’t felt up to going out in a while, so eventually he’d stopped asking.

 She would love for him to ask again now, not to dinner, no, but to a bar. A few drinks and a game, like old times.

 She wants to tell him about the job offer, wants to tell someone. But if she tells him he’ll probably tell Clarke, and for some reason Lexa feels like Clarke knowing would limit her options. She feels like she’ll have to commit, and leave. Or stay. Both are equally frightening.

“Dad!” She hears the voice of a little boy on the line, and listens to Wells answer back. It must be Mike, their youngest. He’s only 5. Their oldest, Jay, is only a year ahead of Charlie. She and Clarke used to babysit him all the time, trying to prepare for parenthood.

 “I’m back,” Wells says.

 “I don't want to keep you,” Lexa tells him. “Say hi to the kids and Sasha for me, okay?”

 “Everything okay?”

 “Yeah, just tired.”

 “Don’t work yourself too hard, okay?”

 “I’m not the one with white hairs, Wells.”

 “They give me character, alright?”

 She laughs, and it feels good. It doesn’t happen much when her daughter is not around.

 “Take care, Lexa.”

 She nods, even if he can’t see her. She’s trying to do that.

 

* * *

 

( _July 4th, 2023.)_

_Lexa watches Clarke get dressed. Her eyes roam over her wife as Clarke pulls on a light blue tank top. Her white coat is laid over the back of their couch in the living room, ready for her to take it -Lexa ironed it late last night and left it there._

_Clarke catches her eye and winks, but Lexa’s intention wasn’t to ogle. She just loves the familiarity of this, the peace it brings her, to do something as simple as lay in their bed in the early morning, their daughter cuddled up at her side, and watch her wife get ready for work._

_Charlie didn’t have school because of the national holiday, and Lexa didn’t have work, either. There were no such considerations for surgeons, though, and so Lexa and Charlie would have to entertain themselves for the day while Clarke was at work. They have plans with everyone at Abby’s that afternoon, a cookout and fireworks._

_The whole day is planned to be kind of perfect, and it certainly starts that way, with Charlie waking up early because she was used to it and getting into bed next to Lexa, looking for her mommy’s snuggles. And now Lexa gets to watch Clarke’s routine, when most of the time she’s too busy to give her more than a passing kiss and goodbye. She’s not in a hurry now, and watches Clarke stand in front of the mirror and apply light makeup._

_Clarke sits down at the foot of the bed when she’s done, and pulls on her sensible black shoes._

_“Do I have something on my face?” Clarke asks, half smile on her lips._

_“No,” Lexa tells her. “I just never get to see you like this.”_

_“Like what?” Clarke asks with a smile. “Getting ready?”_

_“Mhmm,” Lexa hums, nodding. “You look beautiful. Getting ready to go off and save lives. I’m gonna have to wake up earlier to see it more often.”_

_“You wake up at 5:30 every morning, Lex,” Clarke chides._

_“Worth it,” Lexa mouths. Clarke shakes her head, and Lexa is pleased to see the pink in her cheeks._

_“Stop being like this, I have a job to get to.” Clarke says, leaning over her. “I love you.”_

_“Love you more,” Lexa replies, puckering up her lips to receive one of Clarke’s kisses. Clarke laughs at Lexa’s whine when she pulls away, and then presses a kiss to Charlie’s forehead._

_“I love you,” Clarke tells the little girl. Something like ‘too, mama’ leaves her lips, before she curls back underneath the blanket and falls even deeper asleep. Lexa laughs._

_“And,” Clarke adds, her hand dragging up Lexa’s shirt. It tickles. “I love you.” Her lips kiss the middle of Lexa’s lower stomach. It’s not noticeable yet, apart from the firmness beneath her skin, but warmth floods Lexa at the gesture._

_Clarke looks up at Lexa, and with one last kiss to her hand and an ‘I’ll see you after work’, she’s out the door. Lexa curls back around Charlie and falls into an easy slumber._

_She dreams of sunlight._

 

* * *

  

She leaves the office early to pick up Charlie. (Or, in Gustus’ words, leaves when everyone else does.)

The dance academy she's enrolled in is close to the firm, and it only takes Lexa a few minutes to get there. She’s barely a few steps away from the car when she hears a loud ‘mommy’ and sees her daughter running towards her, skinny legs pumping faster to get to her. Lexa smiles.

 She catches her in mid-air, stepping back with the weight of the little girl.

 “Oh, baby. I missed you,” she tells Charlie, whose arms tighten around her neck.

 Charlie doesn’t say ‘I missed you’ this time, and Lexa is as hurt as she is glad. Charlie’s entire life is about saying goodbyes to one of them to leave with the other, and at some point she had to get used to it. 

Lexa wonders if it’s fair to make her get used to something worse.

 “Did you have fun?” she asks Charlie, who leans back and nods.

 “I did a double pirouette!”

 “Really?” Lexa grins at Charlie’s excitement.

 “I finally did it. Mama saw.”

 At the mention of Clarke, Lexa looks back to the dance school; a few children and moms mill about at the stairs.

 “Did your mom leave?” They used to do that. They started dance lessons as a buffer, to distract Charlie before they split up, and it became a convenient place to switch afterward. A fucking P.O. box for a child.

 “No,” Charlie tells her. “She’s over there talking to my teacher.” Charlie drops down to the floor, and begins tugging Lexa’s hand. “Come on, you should talk to her too. Ask her about my pirouette! Mommy, let’s go. Miss Luna is over there.”

 Lexa follows blindly.

 

* * *

_(May 15th, 2024.)_

_“Mommy?”_

_“Yes?”_

_“When will the divorce be over?”_

_The words knock the breath out of Lexa. Her grip on the steering wheel tightens, her hands clenching without her meaning too. She hasn’t been able to utter that word out loud much, though she and Clarke have been apart for three months already. It sounds final. It is final, and part of Lexa still hasn’t caught up._

_“Where did you hear that word, Charlie?”_

_“Mama. She says you’re in divorce but I don’t like it, so when will it be over?”_

_It bubbles up again, that ugly feeling where she’s angry that Clarke is talking to their daughter about things Lexa wished she didn’t, that she’s not with Charlie all the time, that that is her own goddamn fault, but now that she wants to find a way to fix it -Clarke won’t let her._

_She can’t see a way back to who they were, that’s true, but she doesn’t know how to move forward with it, either. She hasn’t even read the divorce papers yet -she would have never told their daughter without Clarke knowing. So why did Clarke-_

_“Mommy.”_

_“I heard you sweetheart. That’s…it’s an adult matter, okay. I have to talk to your mom about that,” she says, cringing. “Is that okay?”_

_“I guess.”_

_Lexa looks at her through the rear-view mirror, and her expression doesn’t match the cheerful, sparkly shirt she has on._

_“I shouldn’t have asked?” Charlie asks, her brow scrunched up. And God, Lexa never wanted her kid to wonder if it was okay to tell the other what she’d done in their time apart._

_“No, you can always ask me anything.” They stop at a red light, and she looks over her shoulder at Charlie. “Okay?”_

_“Okay.”_

_“Now, are you excited for dance class?”_

_Charlie nods, still unsure._

_“What did you learn last class, do you remember?”_

_That launches Charlie into a recounting of her last dance class, like Lexa knew it would. She feels awful, for redirecting her attention instead of giving her solid answers, but the separation is still so recent and raw she can barely make sense of it herself._

_She doesn’t want to drag down her daughter to the sea of uncertainty she’s drowning in._

* * *

 

“Miss Woods,” Luna greets her, but Lexa’s eyes are on Clarke. She lowers them when Clarke looks back at her. The whole exchange lasts a second, but it still makes Lexa self-conscious. She has yet to master the art of nonchalance around her ex-wife. “Charlie is coming very nicely into those splits,” Luna tells her, and Lexa nods and smiles like she’s supposed to. “Just a few inches off the floor on the left side, yes?” Luna directs the questions at Charlie.

 Charlie nods, bouncing on her toes, but before she can say anything her name is called from the stairs of the academy, and Lexa watches as her daughter speeds away to meet River. Her daughter has yet to master the art of excusing herself from conversations.

 Sometimes, she and Lexa are not so different.

 “Miss Woods-”

 “Lexa, please.”

 “Lexa, I was just telling Miss Griffin about our end of year recital.”

 “Charlie is dancing this year,” Clarke tells Lexa, a small smile on her face.

 “She is?” Lexa asks Luna, who nods. Clarke’s smile is mirrored in Lexa’s face. They look at each other, and it’s one of those moments that only they understand, because regardless of everything that’s happened between them they still have a kid together. No one will feel as proud of their daughter as they do. 

“She’s been working really hard, and I think she’s ready to go on that stage,” Luna tells them. “With some more practice I think she might even be ready to compete next year. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, I was talking to Miss Griffin here about the tickets. We usually give them directly to the parents with the younger students. I know how little hands usually lose things, or stain them.” Luna winks, and Lexa knows why she picked the academy, not only because River was already taking classes here, but because Luna -the director- is actually kind. “We have 10 tickets per student, would…five tickets each, be okay?” 

Luna is delicate, too, threading the waters of divorced parents without putting them in an uncomfortable situation.

 “That’d be great, thank you,” Clarke tells her. 

“Perfect! I’ll just go get those.” Luna walks away, and Lexa faces the daunting task of speaking to Clarke one-on-one. She takes back everything good she said about Luna.

 “How are-”

 “Did you-”

 Lexa smiles, and Clarke chuckles, this uncomfortable little sound she always did when she felt out of place. Lexa remembers.

 “You first,” Clarke says.

 “No, please.”

 “How are you, Lexa?”

 “I’m good. Work’s good.”

 Clarke nods, looking away. Lexa does too, and their eyes gravitate to Charlie. She’s talking to River, sitting on the steps of the school.

 “I actually wanted to ask you something,” Clarke says. “Finn…his parents have a cabin. We wanted to go on a…mini vacation of sorts, with Charlie. I’ve been meaning to ask you, if next week I could have her Wednesday through Sunday.”

 “You had her a few months ago for five days too,” Lexa reminds her. She never asks for more time, she takes their schedule as it is, because she doesn’t want to put Charlie through more changes. It’s not worth it -Lexa only went with it last time because it was Abby’s birthday. But she doesn’t like it, and she certainly doesn’t enjoy the idea of her kid going on a…what? Fucking forest adventure? With Finn of all people.

 “Lexa, don’t be difficult.” 

“I’m not. But we have a schedule for a reason.” 

“You could ask me for more days if you needed to. I wouldn’t say no. But you don’t ask.” 

Lexa finally looks back to Clarke. She’s tempted to say no, because it’s her time, because she’d be putting Charlie -and herself- through a few more days apart so Clarke and her boyfriend can have a nice vacation. But then she remembers the letter at home, and Indra’s words, and the possibility…

 “Okay,” Lexa tells her.

 “Okay?”

 “Yes, you can take her for the weekend as well.” It burns to say the next. “Do you want Monday and Tuesday too?”

 Clarke looks as bewildered as Lexa feels.

 “Really?”

 “I mean, it seems more sensible to take her for the whole week.” Lexa needs to know if she can, she feels selfish and disgusting for even giving this a trial run, but part of her just needs to know. “Plus…with school starting in a few weeks, this might be good for her.”

 “Oh, well…that’d be great, Lexa.” Clarke pauses, eyeing her as if expecting to catch her in a lie. ”Thank you. I’ll…I have to ask Finn, but I’m pretty sure we’ll have reception so you can call-”

 “I get it, Clarke.” Her throat aches. “Have fun.”

 “Okay.”

 Clarke looks at a loss, but they’re saved from any more exchanges when Charlie comes barreling into Lexa’s stomach. River stays a few steps behind, and waves at Lexa briefly. 

“Hi, aunt Lexa.” 

Lexa can’t even greet the girl before Charlie is tugging on her shirt.

 “Mommy can River sleep over? Please?”

 Lexa laughs at her daughter’s face, because Charlie knows she doesn’t even have to ask. Lexa appreciates that she does, even loves the theatrics.

 “I don’t know,” she says, pretending to think about it. Charlie whines, and even Clarke laughs -Lexa hears it, but doesn’t look up. “Do her parents know?”

 “Yes, I called daddy,” River pipes up.

 “Okay then,” Lexa says, and Charlie grins.

 “Mommy when I can I have a cell phone?” Charlie asks, and oh no, Lexa isn’t falling so easily on that one.

 “Middle school,” she states.

 “But mommy-”

 Lexa takes her bag, ignoring the whines. “Go say bye to your mom,” she tells her, nodding to Clarke, who has been relegated to watching the scene unfold. She’s been the protagonist of enough herself. Charlie has gotten particularly good at asking the right mother for the right things depending on where she’ll be. Its a skill Lexa had as a child of divorced parents herself, and it’s not one she ever wished on her daughter, but that’s what happened.

 Charlie says goodbye to Clarke with only a quick hug and a kiss -Lexa sees the disappointment in her ex-wife’s face- and then drags River by the hand toward Lexa’s car. Lexa hates that it feels good.

 

* * *

  

The sense of relief Clarke feels when she sees Lexa drive away is only overshadowed by the shame that brings.

 Two days. Two entire days she felt uncomfortable and sore, and wondered why that could be, but couldn’t really do anything with work and a 7 year old to take care off full time. 

And fear, there was also that. 

She gets into her car, thanking the heavens that there’s not many people in the parking lot because her hand immediately goes to her chest. Her breasts are sore and tender. It’s the source of her fear. 

The last time she felt like this, she was pregnant with Charlie.

It’s the first thing that comes to mind, over other, far more terrifying options. She’s a doctor, she knows pain isn’t usually a sign of breast cancer. She knows it would most likely be blamed on her period -but that’s never affected her this way.

 And she’s felt like this before.

 A day before she was supposed to take the pregnancy test according to their IUI schedule. She didn’t tell Lexa in case it meant nothing, but deep down she knew. She’d never felt that. It feels the same. She’s panicking.

 She and Finn…only twice. And they were careful, Clarke was obsessive about it. She’s a divorced mother, she can’t- she can’t have a baby.

 Only when the edges of her vision begin to turn black, does she realize she’s breathing too fast.

 She runs her hands through her hair.

 She’s supposed to get her period next week. This could be nothing. She can be logical about it. But she certainly can’t wait that long. She’s been thinking about it for the past two days, wondering, actively trying to ignore it, and now she gets to put those fears to rest. It terrifies her, because if it is true -she has no idea what she’ll do. It seems almost cruel, that she and Lexa…and now she might -but she’s not.

 She’s blowing things out of proportion without being sure of anything. Logically, she knows that. But her emotions run wild. Her body feels different and she feels lost. Yesterday Charlie hugged her and she gasped because her chest was so very sore, and she couldn’t exactly manage to buy what she needed with a perceptive 7 year old at her heels.

 Clarke puts the key in the ignition.

 

* * *

  

_(May 21th, 2023.)_

_Lexa sits down on the closed toilet. The bathroom is deadly quiet, and Clarke hates the silence that permeates it. It feels thick, like it shouldn’t be breached, like even speaking out loud might turn the tide and give them results opposite of what they want. She knows it’s crazy to think that, so she climbs on Lexa’s lap to break the tension._

_It works, Lexa’s arms immediately falling open to welcome her._

_Lexa smiles, small but there. Clarke loves the sight, misses it like crazy whenever it’s gone._

_“3 minutes,” Clarke says, though she’s sure Lexa knows how much time they have to wait already. It’s not the first time they’ve gone through this, it’s not even the first time for Clarke to be on the other side. It’s Lexa’s fifth round of insemination, and everything tells them it should have happened already. But it hasn’t._

_Every cycle that goes by is another disappointment, even if Lexa doesn’t voice it. She doesn’t voice how hard it is, not like Clarke did. She doesn’t complain about the shots, even injects herself because Clarke gets squeamish when it comes to her own family._

_It took Clarke three rounds of IUI, and after that third round with Lexa they really thought it would happen. It didn’t, nor did the next._

_It’s kind of funny, how every effort culminates in a 3 minute long wait sitting in their bathroom, holding each other._

_They want this so much._

_“Is Charlie-”_

_“She’s watching TV,” Clarke tells her. She rubs the nape of Lexa’s neck, and then runs her fingers over her brow. It’s clear how distracted Lexa is when she doesn’t chastise Clarke for letting their four year old watch more TV than usual. “Don’t frown, you’ll curdle the milk.”_

_Lexa frowns even harder._

_“We don’t know if I’m pregnant yet, and even if I was, I’d only be two weeks along, you don’t produce milk so soon.”_

_Clarke sighs._

_“I was trying to make you laugh, babe,” Clarke tells her, and Lexa looks up. Clarke offers her a smile, and Lexa lays her forehead on Clarke’s chest._

_Clarke rubs her shoulder._

_She knows it’s stressful, she went through that same stress herself -but stress for her and Lexa has always presented itself differently. She’d rather laugh and wait and eat. Lexa worries, bites her nails and paces, forgets to eat at all._

_“How long has it been?” Lexa asks, her warm breath hitting Clarke’s sternum._

_“Enough,” Clarke says. Lexa stiffens. Clarke cups her face in her hands._

_“Hey, whatever it says, I love you, okay? And we can keep trying, or if you’re tired we can take a break-”_

_“I’m only getting older,” Lexa argues, but Clarke shakes her head._

_“We can still take a break,” she insists. Clarke knows Lexa never felt like being thirty years old mattered in the least until they sat at an Ob/Gyn’s office. She was twenty-five when she got pregnant with Charlie, she never felt like time was running out. “Or we can look at other options,” she tells Lexa. “Whatever happens, it’s going to be okay.”_

_Clarke waits until Lexa nods, until she kisses her back and becomes soft and pliant in her arms. Until they both forget the stress of the last few weeks and the harrowing 3-minute-wait of the four different pregnancy tests._

_Lexa is the first one to pull away, a nervous smile on her lips that Clarke loves to see as opposed to the earlier frown. Excitement. Nerves. What could be._

_“Together?” Lexa asks. Clarke nods._

_They see the result at the same time._

* * *

 

_Not Pregnant_

Clarke reads the electronic pregnancy test and breathes in easily for the first time in what feels like weeks, but have only been two days. She’s tempted to get her blood work done tomorrow at the hospital, just to be absolutely certain, but the test gives her a peace of mind she craved.

She almost bitterly laughs, because two years ago she and her ex-wife sat in this same bathroom in nearly the same circumstances, and her feelings were so different. Everything was different. (As a college student, the fact that she and her girlfriend couldn’t accidentally make a child was great. As a married woman, it stung.) It wasn’t fair, that all things with Lexa had to be so difficult.

 Clarke disposes of the test, and the relief it offered evaporates when it’s out of sight.

 If she isn’t pregnant there’s no reason for her to feel like this.

 She’s a doctor, she knows there’s a sleuth of possible reasons. The most likely one is her period, even though breast pain has never happened to her before. The mental checklist gets increasingly shorter as she takes her clothes off, intent on taking a shower. She hopes to cross off another possibility -the most intimidating one.

 She doesn’t.

 In fact, what she finds scares the shit out of her, because how could she have not noticed?

 Two days ago in the shower she quickly felt around for any changes and found nothing. But now, under her fingers and the warm spray of the water, there’s a noticeable lump underneath her left breast.

 And it doesn’t just ache, it hurts.

 In one wild, crazy moment, she turns around to call out to Lexa.

 She stops with the L on the tip of her tongue, and the sound dies in her throat. She’s not here. Lexa hasn’t been in this home in a while. But Clarke’s instinct was to look to Lexa for support for so long that in one moment her heart overrides her brain.

 This is her problem, not anybody else’s.

 She’s scared.

 And that, too, doesn’t concern anybody else. Octavia is pregnant, and Clarke wouldn’t want to worry her like that. Raven is traveling for work. She would call them about this, if only to hear a friendly voice. ‘It’s probably nothing’.

 She craves to hear that from someone she trusts. From anyone at all.

 

* * *

 

( _November 17th, 2023.)_

_Sitting there, Clarke isn’t sure what possessed her to think this was a good idea._

_She knew Lexa was uncomfortable with the idea, her wife was never once to articulate what she felt in so many words, but Clarke was at a loss. Therapy seemed like the one thing they hadn’t tried. If they couldn’t fix this on their own, they clearly needed some help. It would be best for them in the long run. She’d believed that._

_With how Lexa answers questions with sarcasm or looks away from both her and the therapist, now Clarke isn’t so sure._

_Tears fill her eyes, and she’s not sure if it’s the distance she can feel between her and Lexa, how Lexa is not even making an effort -or the questions the therapist asks._

_“So, Clarke, what brings you here?”_

_She could answer that in a multitude of ways, but there’s only one that feels true, and manages to encompass everything she’s been feeling for the past nightmarish 3 months._

_“I want my wife back,” she answers, and shrugs, because it really is that simple._

_“What do you mean, when you say you want her back? Lexa is sitting right here.”_

_“We don’t talk anymore,” she says. They used to tell each other about their day during dinner, they used to talk over whatever TV show they were watching because whatever the other had to say was more interesting. She’d call Lexa at work just to hear her voice._

_She took those minuscule interactions for granted, and now she’d give anything to have that easy communication back._

_“We barely even look each other in the eye most days,” she tells the therapist. “I don’t feel like we’re an ‘us’ anymore.”_

_That’s what scares her. What terrifies her beyond belief. That they…they might now make it out of this, not together._

_They’ve lost so much already, they can’t lose each other too._

_Clarke buzzes with nerves as the appointment carries along. They stay on superficial questions, until the therapist brings up what Clarke feared._

_Lexa gets up and leaves before the therapist even says ‘miscarriage’ out loud._

_Clarke’s lost, left staring at the empty couch. She excuses herself, and follows after Lexa._

_She finds her in the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face. It’s such a vulnerable sight Clarke feels it on her own skin, on the edges of her teeth. She’s worried sick. She never meant to do more harm than good._

_“God, Lexa.”_

_“I can’t do this!” Lexa exclaims. Her rising voice it’s so different from the indifferent silences of the past week that it makes Clarke flinch. It makes her agree right away._

_“Okay. Okay, we’ll leave.” She runs her hand through her hair. “Wait for me, okay?” she pleads with Lexa. “I’ll tell her.”_

_She tells the therapist that they’re leaving, ignoring her reminders that the session is already paid for and it’s non-refundable. She could care less about money right then._

_When she returns to the bathroom, Lexa is gone._

 

* * *

  

Clarke gets out of the shower in a daze.

 Her hand never strays too far from her chest, where the…mass, is still very real. Her hand hovers over her cell phone. She doesn’t want to worry her mother. And she trusts Wells, but it wouldn’t…she’s a grown woman. She can deal with this.

 She’s never felt lonelier.

 Finn…fills some of that now. Her boyfriend of two months. The result of months of beating herself up and wondering and finally, just accepting an invitation for coffee, because she deserved it, didn't she? She likes him, she trusts him but it’s not- it’s not the same sort of trust reaped from years of growing next to someone, with someone. She can’t call her boyfriend because she’s scared about something like this. It’s too heavy. Too stupid if it’s nothing. Too much for a 2-month-old relationship if it’s not.

 She can’t even think the words, for God’s sake.

 Cancer. What if she has cancer? A lump in her breast she didn’t notice -isn’t that how all those stories start?

 She’s scared. She’s terrified. 

She’s the mother of a 7 year old little girl, and as healthy as the next person, this is the sort of thing that’s not supposed to happen to someone like her.

 She takes a deep breath. Lets the air fill her lungs and expand her chest (its increasingly harder when it reminds her of how it aches) but she…calms down. Slightly. There’s nothing happening yet. It could be nothing. In all likelihood, it’s probably nothing, much like her suspecting a pregnancy.

 She’ll probably be laughing to herself about this in a week or two. Right now, she would take anything over the silence in her home.

 

* * *

  

( _November 17th, 2023.)_

_“Because I think it’s bullshit, Clarke! I told you it was bullshit, and that we didn’t need it, and you still had to go-”_

_“I wanted to help us. We need help!”_

_“From an absolute stranger?”_

_“She’s a therapist!” Clarke explains, her anger getting the better of her. Worry is a bitter companion, and they’ve been close the past few hours._

_“I don't need her! We don’t need her! We could’ve used that money to buy something for Charlie-”_

_“Fucking great, so you’re going to make me feel guilty about the money now-”_

_“Because it’s true.”_

_“Shut up! You’re just making excuses because you don’t want to talk- and afterward! You ran off. You just ran off, and I was-”_

_“You were what?” Lexa makes it sound like a challenge, as if it would ever be anything but the truth that Clarke was concerned about her._

_“Damn it, Lexa! I was scared!”_

_She spent an hour looking floor to floor in that building, before finally being told by the security guard at the door that Lexa had left. She spent the afternoon trying to locate her and wondering where she was. She was worried. Of course she was worried._

_“You weren’t answering your cell phone,” she tells Lexa, and her wife regards her before delivering a well-placed blow._

_“Well, now you know how it feels.”_

* * *

  

She unlocks the cabinet and takes out her sleeping pills. Very seldom does she use them, she doesn't think she’s touched them since a few weeks ago. They make time pass by faster, and there’s nothing Clarke wants more right this second.

She wants for it to be morning already, so she can call the hospital and make an appointment. She wants to call Finn with a steady voice and let him know Lexa is okay with them taking Charlie for the whole next week, she wants for him to ask what’s wrong. She wants not to need...anyone. Anyone but herself. She wants to hug her daughter tight, even if the girl wouldn’t understand why. 

It’s late and like so many other nights, Clarke wants things she can’t have.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for miscarriage, starts at the 4th block of italics.

“I want to see. Mommy, let me see!”

 

Lexa stifles a laugh. “Not yet.” She looks at River, and she and the girl share an eye-roll. Charlie has Clarke’s patience, Lexa has always known this. Which is to say- she’s not very patient at all.

 

Lexa navigates Charlie through the apartment, her hands covering her daughter’s eyes. She spent a late night fixing up her room after the new bed and desk she bought got here, and now the room is decked out in a galaxy motive she knows Charlie will love. Her bed sheets, some starts pasted above her bed.

 

“Mommy,” Charlie whines, pulling at Lexa’s hands, and Lexa drops a kiss to her the back of her head.

 

“OK, we’re here.” They stand outside Charlie’s bedroom door, River a few steps behind them. She’s a shy girl, but even she’s covering her mouth to stop laughing. Lexa uncovers Charlie’s eyes and turns the doorknob. “1, 2, 3!”

 

Her daughter gasps when she lays eyes on her new bed.

 

“I love it! It’s so big!” Charlie jumps in the bed, squealing with delight. “There are stars everywhere!”

 

“Take your shoes off, will you?” Lexa asks, smiling. Charlie drops down and bounces before taking her sneakers off. The huge smile on her face makes everything better for Lexa. She doesn’t remember pain or hate or jealousy when her daughter laughs like that. It’s the only thing that matters.

 

“River get on, come on!” Charlie pleads, and River, ever respectful and quiet -just like Lincoln- climbs on the bed as well.

 

They jump together, and Lexa tramps down the fear that they might fall and lets them have their fun.

 

“Mommy, come on, you too!”

 

“Me?”

 

“Yes!”

 

Lexa is honored at the invitation, but she thinks her days of silliness and jumping on beds are long gone.

 

“The floor is lava!” Charlie exclaims.

 

Lexa gasps. “Is it? Oh no.” It’s always easy to remember how to be silly when Charlie wants her to, though.

 

“The floor is lava so you have to get on. River, move. Mommy! Don’t leave me alone!” Charlie makes a show of almost falling of the bed and onto the fl- the lava, reaching for Lexa in a feat worthy of Broadway.

 

Lexa finally plays along.

 

  

* * *

 

 

_(January 21st, 2016.)_

_“Are we missing something?” Lexa asks once the moving company people are out the door. Their bed is assembled upstairs, the stove is in its corner of the kitchen, and everything else is on boxes lying all around. She loves the house they chose, will love it even more once everything is in its place._

_“Um, I don’t think so?!” Clarke’s voice comes from upstairs, and Lexa walks up to meet her. “Wait, we do have to make sure the bed is sturdy,” Clarke tells her at the top of the stairs._

_“It costs us and arm and a leg, it better be,” Lexa tells her, taking in her disheveled hair, her tank top and shorts get up. Seeing Clarke like this will never get old. Her fiance. Soon to be wife. It still makes her blood sing._

_“We could make sure,” Clarke says, taking a step closer to Lexa. This will never get old either. She goes in to kiss her when Clarke steps back, takes off sprinting down the hallway._

_Lexa laughs._

_And then stops, when she finds Clarke…jumping on the bed._

_She rolls her eyes so hard it hurts._

_“Is this what you meant?” She asks, crossing her arms, and Clarke laughs._

  
_“Lex, come on.”_

_“Clarke.”_

_“I know you’re a hotshot law school student now but come on.” Clarke pouts, blue eyes twinkling and chest heaving from the exertion and Lexa never stood a chance._

_It’s not her thing, she stopped being a child a long, long time ago; sooner that most, and it doesn’t agree with her to make a fool of herself. But with Clarke, its different. With Clarke, her defenses fall and she doesn’t feel embarrassed or naked but protected._

_So she jumps on the bed with her fiance. She jumps and laughs until she’s red in the face, and then Clarke steals the last of her breath kissing her silly._

_“Now, wasn’t that fun?”_

_Lexa laughs, because it’s silly, and dumb, and she’s so incredibly happy._

_They do end up testing the bed in other ways, but that afternoon remains one of her favorites on it._

 

 

* * *

  

 

Lexa tucks in a pair of exhausted little girls later that night.

 

Between the three of them they obliterated a large box of pizza, and watched two Disney films before Charlie’s eyes started drooping and River began to yawn.

 

She marches them to the bathroom and directs teeth-brushing and changing into pajamas, all the while thinking that regardless of what she thought when she was younger, this is something she was always meant to do.

 

She tucks River in first, brushing back the girl’s curly back hair before pressing a kiss to her forehead. Beneath her dark skin, she blushes.

 

“Goodnight,” Lexa singsongs.

 

“Night, aunt Lexa.”

 

She walks around to the other side of the bed, where Charlie waits, eyes valiantly fighting to stay open. Lexa tucks the galaxy patterned blanket around skinny little legs and her torso, up to her neck.

 

“Warm and toasty?” She checks, and Charlie nods, a sleepy smile on her lips.

 

“Goodnight,” she tells her, kissing her forehead twice. Charlie reaches up and grabs her hand, holding it.

 

“Goodnight, mommy.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

( _2007.)_

_She’s 13._

_They call her out of English class, her favorite subject, and Lexa doesn’t think anything of it._

_They take her to the infirmary and no one says anything and a knot forms in her throat. The school nurse dabs the tears from Lexa’s eyes when she’s made to sit down in one of the cold plastic chairs from the infirmary._

_Lexa doesn’t know what she’s crying about yet, but she knows it’s bad if the pity and sadness in the nurse’s face is anything to go by. She braces herself for the blow but it still takes her breath away._

_“Your mother was in an accident, Lexa.”_

_She hears the words as though they’re from a great distance._

_She breaks in half. Or at least, that’s what it feels like. She cries so hard she can hardly breathe, and ends up kneeling on the floor, her head laying on the lap of the school nurse, who pats her back and tries to get her to draw in oxygen before she passes out._

_Lexa hadn’t known loss until then._

_She gets used to it._

_Lexa moves in with her father after her mother’s funeral._

_He sends someone to pack up Lexa’s bedroom for her. She changes school districts and part of her is glad, because now she won’t get stares anymore from being the girl who lost her mom, but she also doesn’t know anyone. Part of her wants to keep it that way, but she doesn’t._

_Against her better judgment, she makes friends_

_Much to the delight of the therapist her father sends Lexa to once a week for a good six months after her mom’s death, she makes friends._

_They last until high school._

_There’s something freeing about high school, and Lexa loves it. Her heartache is pushed so deep down herself that she barely feels it anymore, it’s been years of it, and she moves on. She realizes she’s gay, and she owns it. She forgets her old friends and makes new ones._

_She buys a leather jacket and pairs it with an attitude, just defiant enough to seem dangerous and interest girls, but not to get in trouble at school. She gets good grades. She dates a few girls. High school is good, and on her few worst moments she berates herself for forgetting about her mother, the woman she lived with for the first 13 years of her life._

_Her father isn’t there as much as her mother was, but he buys her a motorcycle when Lexa turns 16. She can’t blame him, if he never did get the hang of being a parent for longer than one weekend at a time, but he tries, and it’s enough for Lexa. She loves him all the same._

_4 years fly by and it’s time to leave for college, so she does. She and her friends drift away after that._

_College is different and strange and feels for so long like balancing on a tightrope, but eventually, she gets used to it. She tries to feel grounded. Tries to develop deeper friendships than just drinking together and helping each other with school. She manages, for the most part. But something is still missing._

_Lexa isn't sure if its her or just the fact that she knows nothing is permanent._

 

 

* * *

 

 

Mornings are hectic with two little kids around.

 

She has to rope Charlie into taking a shower after breakfast, convince River to actually have breakfast even if it’s not as good as her dad’s, and since her apartment only has one bathroom there’s about 15 minutes that she doesn’t have eyes on them at all.

 

It’s hectic, but she likes it. It gets too quiet too often, this place, and her daughter makes it alive, her honorary niece too, every time she visits.

 

Lexa leaves them in the balcony near midday, on Lexa’s tablet with Clarke on skype, while she makes lunch.

 

It took a long while before Lexa was comfortable letting them play there, but she knows neither of them will try to peek over the edge, and neither is tall enough to accidentally fall, so she’s calmer about it.

 

She’s frying nuggets when Charlie runs in. It’s not her top choice for a lunch, but it’ll do for today. Baby carrots should make up for it.

 

“Mommy, mama says we’re taking a trip?” Charlie asks, climbing up onto one of the chairs at her breakfast island.

 

“You are,” she says, used now to not being included in half of her daughter’s ‘we’s’.

 

“A whole week?” Charlie asks again.

 

“Yeah.” Lexa makes herself smile. “You’ll go to a cabin. It’ll be so fun.”

 

She turns around to keep an eye on the food, and to get herself in check. She was never the best actress, but she can keep her feelings under wraps. She talked to Clarke about this and it’s a done deal, plus she has motives of her own for them to be apart for a week, Lexa reminds herself, even if it makes her feel like shit.

 

If they can’t go a week how can she possibly think about moving?

 

“It’s Finn’s,” Charlie says. “I don’t like Finn,” she reminds Lexa, as if Charlie didn’t say that often. Too often. “The way he looks at mama is stupid.”

 

“Charlie, that’s not a word we use,” Lexa reminds her daughter. She takes a breath. “I know it’s hard. Liking someone new. But…is he nice to you?”

 

Charlie shrugs.

 

“I guess.”

 

“Has he ever made you feel bad?”

 

“No. I just don't like him.”  
  
“And that’s okay.” Lexa takes a breath. “But listen, you don't have to dislike him for me, you know?”

 

Charlie looks up, lip trapped between her teeth, like she got doing something bad. She realizes Charlie is so insistent in her dislike of Clarke’s boyfriend because she thinks it will hurt Lexa if she likes him. Her daughter is such a thoughtful, amazing little girl like that. But Lexa can’t have her 7 year old worrying about things she, a grown woman, chooses to ignore.

 

“Baby, your mom and I…it didn’t work out.” Lexa turns off the stove and gets the nuggets on a plate, and it gives her time to gather her words. She turns to Charlie, whose lips are pouting. “It’s okay that she found someone new,” Lexa says. Lexa doesn’t know if she believes that herself, but she makes herself say because logically, it is true. She and Clarke are nothing to each other anymore, they just share Charlie.

 

Feelings and messiness and drunk dials aside, it’s the truth. And Lexa needs to be okay with that.

 

“But you have to know that we are your parents,” she tells Charlie, because that is true as well. “Finn…he won’t ever replace me.” Lexa tells her daughter, even if all her demons whisper that she doesn't know that. “Is that what bothers you?”

 

Charlie nods, her eyes on the floor.

 

“It doesn’t have to bother you. And I won’t get mad if you like him.”

 

“Promise?” Charlie asks. Lexa has a knot in her throat. It aches that Finn may get her daughter’s affection, but it aches even more that Charlie would think she’d be mad at her for being who she is. A beautiful, intelligent, full of love little girl.

 

“I promise.”

 

“And he won’t...he won’t replace you, ever?” Charlie asks, rubbing the tears out of her eyes.

 

“Never, I promise.”

  
Lexa can’t promise that they won’t get married, form a new family over the ashes of what she and Clarke had, but she can promise that she will always be there for Charlie.

 

“Char! Come on! Where are you?!” River yells from the balcony

 

“He’s a boy anyways,” Charlie says, scrunching up her nose. “He would be a terrible mommy.”

  
Charlie runs back out to the balcony, and part of Lexa wants to laugh.

 

Part of her doesn't correct Charlie, too terrified of the fact that one day Finn could be her dad.

 

* * *

  

_(2014.)_

_It’s too late when they find it._

_Her dad is going to die and he tells her as much, ever the scientist. She’s given the facts on a warm morning when she visits him, a lull in her homework and easier topics in classes letting her miss a few days and visit her old man._

_It’s pancreatic cancer, though at this point it’s spread to other organs, and Lexa would have noticed, could have noticed something was wrong, if she hadn’t left for college._

_Her dad doesn’t let her feel guilty about that for too long, but she still does._

_She thinks it’s bullshit. Statistically, what are the chances of losing both parents to disease and chance before hitting 20?_

_But it’s still happening, it’s her life._

_Her dad doesn’t let her take a sabbatical year from college. She’s intent on it, on taking care of the parent she has left, but her dad orders her to finish out the semester, and not to skip the next._

_He’s not sure he’s making it until then, anyways._

_She cries when she goes back to school. She feels 13 again, and alone, and empty; she’s still that skinny girl crying on the lap of the school nurse, except now she’s older and her roommate quietly exists the room when she realizes what’s going on._

_But she keeps going. Her dad wants her to get good grades so she gets great ones, and whenever she gets a chance she talks to her teachers and goes back home, nearly every weekend if she can manage it._

_She’s saddled with a project toward the end of the semester, and doesn’t go back for three weeks. When she does, he looks so different._

_She hadn’t noticed many changes, apart from the slight loss of weight, but when she sees him again he looks like a shadow of his former self. Old, so much older than Lexa remembers him being last month, and fragile. She never thought of her dad as fragile. He would visit almost every weekend when she was a little girl, carry her on his shoulders and take her to the zoo._

_But he looks like Atlas finally crumpled under the weight of the world._

_She cooks for him, wonders who has been doing it when she’s gone, doesn’t want to hear an answer. She helps him to the bathroom. She takes in how ashamed he is and it breaks her, and she tells herself she’s taking next semester off, regardless of what he’ll say. She’s needed here. She goes back to school after that weekend, mind made up._

_Her dad’s neighbor calls her when she’s crossing the state line. She turns the car around._

_Lexa doesn’t cry._

_She did enough of that when he was sick, and she forces herself to carry on because it’s what he would have wanted. She screams her throat raw and breaks a lamp on her old room, but she doesn’t cry. She makes the arrangements for the funeral, helped along by one great-aunt she never was close with. It’s not that different, that’s the first thing she notices._

_Funerals all feel the same._

_Lexa buries her father._

 

_Anya, her TA, attends the funeral._

 

_She’s surprised, because she didn’t ask any of her friends to come, even though a couple offered. She didn’t want them to see her like that. It was her life. Her sorrow._

 

_But Anya, who writes on the margin of her papers when she grades them, is there._

 

_After everyone leaves her home, she sits in the couch with her - and Lexa cries then. Anya remains stoic through it, and Lexa is embarrassed when it’s over, but the woman just lets her have that moment._

 

_“Why did you come?”_

 

_“I thought I could offer you some support.”_

 

_“Bullshit.”_

 

_“You remind me of me,” Anya tells her, rolling her eyes. “Call me sentimental.”_

 

_Lexa cries, and Anya is there._

 

_Anya takes her to a bar to get shitfaced, and that’s better._

 

_She wonders if she should thank her, or kiss her -but through her grief she realizes it’s not like that._

 

_Anya becomes a constant then. They’re friends, odd friends, and they share very little in common, but Lexa thinks Anya recognizes in herself something she also possesses, and so it grows from there._

 

_They go out to bars, and they’re each other’s wing-women more than a few times, and even when Anya graduates she still checks on Lexa. She stills visits every weekend, half an hour drive to see her ‘honorary baby sister’._

 

_It’s the friendship she was looking for. It’s that ‘more’ than just drinking and helping each other out with homework that Lexa craved. They’re not even in college together anymore. Anya saw her at her worst, held her through it, when they were little more than strangers, and it’s shaped their relationship._

 

_She helps Anya talk to her estranged mother. She helps her cut back on drinking. They share the same humor and Lexa spends quite a few saturdays on the couch of Anya’s apartment, after laughing so hard her stomach hurts. She feels like she belongs there. She has friends, yes, but she’d say Anya is her best friend, almost a sister, to anyone who asked. She never felt capable of saying that before._

 

_When Anya skips a saturday, Lexa doesn't think anything of it._

 

_WhenAnya doesn't answer her calls or her texts, something begins to grow in her throat. A primal fears take over, a deja vu that things are repeating themselves._

 

_She gets the call on tuesday._

 

_They find her contact in Anya’s cell phone and call her._

 

_Robbery gone wrong, is what they say. Some kids tried to take her car and Anya fought back. A gun went off. Tragic._

 

_Death seems to follow her around._

 

_Funerals all feel the same, all begin to blur together when you’ve attended enough of them, and Lexa doesn’t cry when Anya’s lowered to the ground._

 

_Lexa closes the year by herself in a house that reeks of booze and death. Or maybe that’s just her._

_It feels like she’s meant for this._

 

_Maybe there is no belonging. Maybe she really is better off keeping people at a distance. She’s tired of trying, it finally caught up to her after running from that truth since she was 13. Everything has an end, so what’s the point?_

 

_She meets Clarke Griffin on a Monday three months after that, and she changes her mind._

 

* * *

   

 

Lincoln arrives to pick River up in the late afternoon.

 

He greets Lexa with a hug and an honest ‘how are you doing?’, he listens to her chatter for a bit about work, while River gathers her things, and Lexa knows why she always liked him so much.

 

He’s being careful with her, though, and she also knows why.

 

“How’s- How’s Octavia?” she asks him. “How’s the baby?”

 

He smiles wide, almost like he can’t help himself, and Lexa…she is familiar with that feeling. But Lincoln reigns it in.

 

“They’re both great,” he says. “Thank you, Lexa. It’s- I, huh-”

 

“It’s okay to be excited in front of me,” she tells him, and it stops him in his tracks. She didn’t mean to be so upfront, but she was never fond of the kid gloves. Lincoln looks sheepish, and Lexa feels bad. “I mean it, I…I’m really happy for you. What happened was a long time ago.” A lie.

 

“It’s a boy,” Lincoln says, and it still feels like a punch to the gut. “Octavia didn’t want to know at first but she caved in…”

 

Lexa smiles, and it’s only a little tinged with sadness.

 

“Congratulations.”  
  
Lincoln thanks her.

 

“You should come over for dinner some time,” Lincoln offers her, but Lexa knows it’s just courtesy. She was never too close with Octavia. Octavia was always Clarke’s friend. Once more, Lexa begins to fantasize about a place where no one’s Clarke, no one knows their story.

 

“Of course,” Lexa agrees, all for show.

 

River barges into the living room, cutting through the atmosphere, and Lexa and Charlie both say their goodbyes.

 

“Mommy, can you brush my hair?” Charlie asks, and Lexa nods picking her up. In moments like this, she likes having her daughter close. Charlie gives her peace of mind, she’s a balm against all the hurt she’s experienced in life.

 

She’s the best parts of Lexa and the best parts of her ex-wife.

 

Being a mother feels right to her. Making herself soft and gentle and protective is something she didn’t do a lot of growing up, that she never thought she’d want to do, even, but it fits.

 

Lexa brushes her daughter’s hair and she could never regret this, could never regret trying again even if it gave her so much heartache.

 

* * *

   

 

( _August, 2023.)_

_Only her back hurts at first._

_Lexa thinks it’s odd because she slept well the night before. Clarke complained about the room being chilly -even though it was summer- and Lexa curled herself around Clarke, the slight curve of her belly pressed against her wife’s back. And she’s only over the 3 month mark, 15 weeks to be exact, nowhere near heavy enough for it to cause her back pain._

_So she ignores it._

_Her stomach hurts next, starts pulling and stinging like cramps, and that is impossible to ignore._

_A cold dread fills Lexa, and the only thing she wants is to listen to Clarke’s voice. It’s probably nothing, but she’s scared._

_She calls her once, twice, three times. It goes unanswered each time, and maybe it’s the time at the phone that allows her to ignore the pain, because when she puts it down it kills her._

_She has to breathe through her nose while one of the waves attempt to sink her under, and when she breaks through the surface she calls Clarke again. She needs her wife._

_But there’s no answer. It goes to voice mail, like the cell phone has been turned off._

_She calls the next person she can trust._

_She answers on the second ring._

  
_“Abby?!”_

 

 

_“Lexa, is everything okay?”_

 

_“Abby, Clarke isn’t answering her phone and-”_

 

_“What’s wrong? Lexa, is something wrong? Is it the baby?”_

 

_“Abby, please hurry,” she sobs. “It hurts.”_

 

_It’s all in flashes after that._

 

_Abby gets there faster than any ambulance would, and she’s at the hospital in record time. She doesn’t remember the ride, only breathing, in and out, and the lights of other cars reflecting off the window._

 

_The blooming red stain in Abby’s front seat -Lexa doesn’t realize when she started bleeding._

 

_Abby holding her up until they get her a wheelchair right inside._

 

_The “I’m very sorry, but there’s nothing we can do.” from the doctor in the emergency room, who regards her with pity in his eyes._

 

_They give her a room and Abby sits with her, holds her hand even though Lexa doesn't feel it, aching and hurt and cold as she is. She has stopped feeling anything but numb._

 

  
_But when Clarke walks in, she breaks._  
 

* * *

   

 

A noise wakes her up.

 

After relying on some form or another of alarm clocks for most her life, Lexa is attuned to every little sound, and the drag of her dresser is not one she’d be hearing right then.

 

She turns toward the source of the sound, and finds Charlie trying to pull out one of her button down shirts from the bottom drawer.

 

“Baby, what are you doing?” She asks, and Charlie jumps, turns to look at her like a deer in the headlight before dashing out of the room.

 

Lexa gets out of bed.

 

“Charlie?” she calls out softly, before entering her daughter’s room. “Hey, what were you doing? Is everything okay?”

 

The sniffles coming from beneath the blankets tell her it’s not.

 

Lexa climbs into bed, and she sighs in relief when Charlie drapes herself over her right away, hugging her.

 

“What’s wrong?” Lexa asks, rubbing her back. Sometimes Charlie just has mornings where she’s tired and grumpy and easy to tears, especially if she woke up from a nightmare.

 

“I…ted…your…shers…” she hears, muffled against her neck.

 

“What was that?” she asks, and Charlie pulls away, already wiping at her cheeks.

 

“I wanted one of your shirts. For the trip. They smell like you. I wanted to take one,” Charlie confesses. “I’m sorry.”

 

Lexa’s heart constricts inside her chest.

 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Lexa tells her, knowing her tears probably come from being caught off guard. “But you know, it’ll be just a week,” she tells Charlie, settling them back in the pillows. “You won’t have time to miss me.”

 

Charlie doesn’t answer.

 

“We’ll talk every day,” she says.

 

“Promise?” Charlie pleads, and Lexa really shouldn’t, since she doesn’t know if there will be phone signal there, but Clarke can deal with that.

 

“I promise.” Charlie seems satisfied at that, but her lips are still down turned. “You can still take it if you want,” Lexa tells her, and Charlie nods, smiling.

 

“Snuggles?” Charlie asks, and Lexa is so glad she hasn’t outgrown those yet. She smiles as she drowns her kid in hugs and kisses, and Charlie giggles.

 

Lexa traces her finger over Charlie’s forehead and cheeks. Her daughter smiles and dimples show up, on her cheeks and her chin, that last one making her look so much like Clarke.

 

Her smile disappears, a slight frown taking its place, and once more Lexa is in awe of how fast she grew up, of how her expressions remain the same as when she was just a baby.

 

She’s the best thing that’s happened to Lexa.

 

“Are you sad, mommy?” Charlie asks, her fingers resting to Lexa’s cheek, poking slightly.

 

Lexa shakes her head and preses a kiss to Charlie’s forehead.

 

“No, I’m just really happy you’re my kid.”

 

Charlie smiles, her tongue poking through the space where her tooth hasn’t come in.

 

“And I’m really happy you’re my mommy.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: brief depictions of invasive medical procedures and mentions of miscarriage. It's in the 5th block of italics if this makes you uncomfortable.

The walls are overly cheerful.

Clarke works at a hospital, she’s supposed to be used to it. The endless, brightly colored posters, the detached atmosphere, that ever present smell of disinfectant, but now, on the other side, she can’t help but find grievances every where she looks.

The walls are too bright. She’s too scared.

“Mrs.Griffin-Woods?”

“Yes?”

“Come with me, please.”

She doesn’t register her last name until they’re halfway down the hallway. She guesses she should have felt shock at being called by her married last name, but for some reason it’s a comfort to Clarke. Things used to be different back then, good.

She still corrects the nurse.

“It’s Miss. Griffin now, by the way. Just Griffin.”

“Oh, I see. We’ll have to update your records, then.” The nurse gives her a practiced, pleasant smile. “Please change, the doctor will be in shortly.”

 

 

_(January 28th, 2018.)_

_“Are we going to find out, for real?”_

_“We said we were going to find out,” Clarke says, squeezing Lexa’s hand. Her wife is antsy, like she always is before an appointment, almost like she’ the one who’s pregnant and not Clarke, who has started to show already._

_“When we walk out we’ll know if we’re having a son or a daughter,” Lexa says, and Clarke grins._

_“Not if you have a heart attack before that,” she teases, but still presses a gentle kiss to Lexa’s lips._

_“Mrs. Griffin-Woods?"_

_She pulls away, gives Lexa a shaky smile, and they get up._

_Clarke goes through the motions of getting ready, lifts her shirt and holds Lexa’s hand, but her ears are buzzing. She’s pregnant, noticeably so these days, and she knows it, she went through morning sickness and her period is gone, but now she gets to know a little bit more the person inside of her, gets to see it as a person instead of a blob of cells._

_The technician frowns, trying to locate the baby’s genitals, and Clarke begs and pleads with her buddy on board to turn around._

_“There we go,” the man says. “Well, congratulations.” Both of Lexa’s hand squeeze one of her own. “You are about to become mothers to a lovely little girl.”_

_“A girl,” Clarke hears Lexa say, in awe, and tears sting her own eyes._

_They’re having a baby girl._

_Lexa hugs her, tight, leaning halfway over the examination table, and Clarke laughs._

_A girl._

 

 

Clarke doesn’t look at the doctor’s face.

She stares at the posters on the walls, while the cold, slimy feel of the ultrasound machine rolls over her breast.

She tries not to flinch at the pain.

She doesn’t look at the doctor’s face, because even after years of working herself, people can still read bad news from her expressions, and she doesn’t want to know if her doctor has the same problem.

She studied under him as a resident, and it’s why Clarke picked him, because she knew he was good, and she could afford nothing but good right now. Clarke was filled with cold, hard determination to do the very best to ensure her health and therefore her daughter’s wellbeing.

The doctor turns the machine off, and she breaths.

“You may get changed, I’ll be back in a moment to discuss the results.”

Clarke’s worries were for naught, because his expression is unreadable.

 

 

_(July 17th, 2023.)_

_She squeezes Lexa’s hand._

_“Okay?”_

_“Yeah.” Her wife nods. “I’m nervous.”_

_Clarke kisses her cheek on a whim, because she knows it’s not like Lexa to admit to her feelings out-loud so readily. But they’ve been together for years, raised a child, are waiting for another- their previous reservations don’t exist anymore. Lexa lets herself be weak in front of her, and Clarke in turn lets herself accept help, accept that she can’t fix everything._

_In their combined vulnerability, they have never been stronger._

_Clarke knows, as much as she can know anything, that she and Lexa are soulmates. She also knows that their daughter will be ecstatic about getting a little brother or sister -or so she hopes._

_“Me too,” she tells Lexa. “But she’ll love this, you know she will.”_

_Lexa smiles, and nods, and Clarke meets her halfway for a short kiss._

_“Let’s do this,” Clarke says._

_“Charlie?” Lexa calls out._

_“Baby, come here!” Clarke asks._

_They left her sitting on her bedroom floor, playing- she’d just woken up from a nap. And since she and Lexa are planning on telling everyone at the 3 month mark, they want Charlie to know first. Their daughter should be the first to know they’re adding to the family._

_Charlie walks into the room, blonde hair everywhere, fists still rubbing at her eyes to fight off sleep. She’s syrup sweet after a nap, looking for snuggles from the mom closest to her, and she walks to Clarke, lays her head on her lap._

_“Mommy and I have something to tell you,” Clarke tells her, rubbing her back. She’s smiling so wide her cheeks almost ache. Charlie looks up at her, and then at Lexa. Inquisitive blue eyes wake up._

_She feels Lexa grab her hand and Clarke meets her eyes. They both thrum with nerves, Lexa’s eyes seem to sparkle with excitement._

_“Come here, sit with us.” She picks Charlie up and sits her on the bed next to Lexa, then kneels on the floor._

_“Okay, so you know how mommy has been a bit sick lately?” She starts, and Lexa puts her arms around Charlie, dropping a kiss to her head._

_Charlie nods. “Yuck.”_

_Lexa laughs. Their eyes met again, and Lexa’s smile encourages her to keep going._

_“So, there’s a reason for that,” Clarke says gently, and her face splits into a grin. Charlie smiles too, affected by their mood more than actually knowing what’ going on._

_“And that reason is,” Lexa says. “Mommy’s pregnant!”_

_Charlie looks up at both of them, smiling, but lost. Lexa laughs, pulling their daughter onto her lap. She’s not showing too much yet, so the action is easy._

_Clarke sits down next to them._

_“That means we’re having a baby, Charlie,” she tells her. “You’re going to have a baby brother or sister!”_

_“Really?” Charlie asks._

_“Yes!” Lexa exclaims. “Are you excited?”_

_“Do you want a little brother or a little sister?” Clarke asks._

_Charlie frowns at the barrage of questions, snapping her head between the both of them before getting down from Lexa’s lap. She turns to them._

_“Mama, what I want is some pickles.”_

_They both nearly die laughing._

_Charlie looks on, lost, and clearly a little hungry, and she and Lexa laugh because the big announcement did not go at all how hey had planned. Then again, most things didn’t when it came to Charlie, and that was the beauty of parenthood._

_They explain about the baby again that night, after Charlie hasn’t just woken up from a nap and isn’t hungry anymore, and she reacts accordingly, jumping up and down and talking their ears off about every toy she was going to share with her brother when he came. (She was quite sure it was a brother, too.)_

_The pickles comment sticks, though, and soon enough it’s the only nickname  they’re calling their future baby._

_Their little pickle._

 

 

“Griffin! I remember you as a resident.”

Clarke smiles politely. “Didn’t think you would.”

“No, I remember you. And your baby. Your wife, too. Modern,” he says. Clarke resist the urge to rolls her eyes. “You were bright, very bright! How’s your family?”

Clarke swallows.

“Good. They’re…good.”

She doesn’t need to mention how they’re just not together anymore.

“Great! Well, about your ultrasound…” He takes his glasses off, and Clarke has always hated this part, where the veneer of humanity comes off and Doctors become vessels for bad news. Clarke has been there. “I can’t give you a conclusive answer. You’re a doctor too, you know I don’t have enough information but to confirm that there is a solid mass. It’s not fluid filled, it’s not a duct…”

Clarke had suspected that, had hoped for the opposite. 

“The next step is of course more tests,” he says, and Clarke nods, though she wants to sigh. She wants to scream. ‘Solid mass’ is simply a less scary word for tumor. 

It must show in her face, because the doctor leans forward.

“Griffin, there’s no cause for concern just yet. Most of the cases I refer turn out to be non-cancerous. You’re young, you don’t have a history of cancer in your family, the odds are in your favor.”

Clarke is a doctor, and because she is a doctor, she knows odds seldom mean anything.

 “Because of the size of the mass and the pain however, I will mark your referral as urgent. The Sullivan breast clinic is one of the best in DC, Dr.Lowry will see you as soon as possible. From here on she’ll oversee your case, and I trust her judgment -we went to college together.” He smiles at Clarke, and Clarke tries to smile back, but she knows what he’s doing. You make the patient feel comfortable, build rapport. “Actually I have -would saturday work for you?”

Charlie.

“Actually, I have - my daughter has something on saturday, I’m afraid it’s impossible.” It’s her first dance presentation, she needs to be there.

“Of course,” he says. “I would advise you not to wait very long, to schedule an appointment.”

“Of course.” But Clarke knows a week won’t make a difference, regardless of the outcome of the tests.

“The following week then?” He asks. “I don’t know her availability then, but I’ll give you her number directly -tell her Dr.Watson sent you.”

Clarke nods, grabbing the post it note he hands her. “Thank you.”

He smiles, and it’s honest this time, Clarke can tell.

“Good luck, Clarke,” he says, reaching over his desk to shake her hand.

“Griffin, bright Griffin!” he exclaims as she leaving the room, and Clarke smiles.

The worst part about making a patient feel comfortable? It works.

 

 

_(August 13th, 2023.)_

_“Clarke. I’m sorry for your loss.”_

_Clarke hears the words as if she’s under water._

_The past half-hour, after walking in and seeing her wife in a hospital bed and learning what happened, has felt equally as foreign, painful._

_Clarke’s autopilot is engaged, because she doesn’t get to grieve right now, not with Lexa in the state she’s in._

_“Thank you. What are my wife’s options?” She asks right away, clinical about it. If she doesn’t focus the facade will crack and so she takes a step back, avoiding her co-workers hand._

_“We could induce or do a D &C, it’s up to her,” he says. “I can explain-”_

_“I can explain the procedures to her,” Clarke tells him. “I know it’s not the policy but you know me, and-”_

_“I understand, Clarke. Sorry again.”_

_Clarke nods, takes a deep breath, and goes back inside._

 

 

Clarke finds herself canceling dinner plans with Finn, already exhausted after a long day of putting effort into being a human being. Even walking and driving felt like chores after her appointment, and she’s only thankful that she doesn’t have to work.

She sighs when she remembers exactly why that is.

She packs her bag methodically, wondering if a trip is the best idea right now, but she promised Finn, and she asked Lexa, and Charlie already knows. 

Clarke has disappointed her daughter enough for a lifetime.

Besides, what good would it do to stay behind?

She’d just worry over things she can’t do anything about. Much like now, when the house is empty and all the memories it holds run around Clarke like ghosts. And there’s nothing she can do about that, either.

 

 

_(August 13th, 2023.)_

_“You’re awake.”_

_Lexa’s eyes are red rimmed and wide open, and Clarke swallows, because a day that started so well has felt like punch after punch, and she’s breathless._

_The hospital room is chilly, and she covers Lexa’s shoulders with the white sheet on her bed, needing something to do. Her mom left a few minutes ago to pick up Charlie, and God, Clarke can’t even begin to think about how to explain what happened to her._

_She sits down on Lexa’s bed, covers her wife’s hand with her own._

_Lexa’s face crumples at the touch, and Clarke’s chest aches, tears prickle her eyes but she pushes them down._

_“I’m here,” she says, hugging Lexa, who groans as she sits up to rest her head on Clarke’s shoulder._

_“I talked to your doctor,” she starts, knowing there’s no easy way to have this conversation. She forces herself to be clinical about it, to forget its their baby she’s talking about._

_Lexa pulls away, looks up at Clarke. Clarke wipes her tears away._

_“They can give you medication to induce birth, so you can deliver-”_

_“He’s dead, Clarke,” Lexa says, and Clarke has to cover her mouth because otherwise she’ll cry, and she needs to be strong for her wife right now._

_“I know, baby. That’s…that’s one option. They can also do a D &C…um,  dilation and curettage. They…They’ll put you under anesthesia, then dilate your cervix and, clean out…everything, they scrape the uterine lining.”_

_It’s not their baby anymore, their baby is gone. Oh God, their baby is gone._

_Lexa sobs, once._

_“I’m sorry. I know this is hard. But it’s your choice.”_

_“I just want this to be over, Clarke,” Lexa pleads. “I don’t…I don’t want to go through labor. I can’t.”_

_Clarke nods._

_“So the D &C?”_

_“I just…I need for this be over.”_

_“Okay baby, I’ll tell the doctor,” Clarke tells her, and Lexa nods, Lexa breathes deeply once the decision is taken and slumps against Clarke, and all Clarke wishes for is strength to share with her, but she barely has any for herself._

 

 

Clarke shouldn’t have doubted herself, because time away from the city turns out to be exactly what they needed.

The fresh air reminds her of camping trips with her parents when her dad was still alive, of Spring Breaks spent hiking when she was back in college. Clarke sits back and watches her daughter and her boyfriend play, and things feel almost…simple, again. How they used to be when she was younger.

Charlie throws a football, and Finn catches it, stumbling back, pretending her daughter’s arm is a lot stronger than it really is. Charlie laughs. Clarke smiles faintly. 

She takes a picture of Charlie, football in hand. 

After just a minute of doubt, she decides to text it to Lexa.

She promised to keep in touch, and she thinks it’s about time she kept that promise. She needs to talk to Lexa, to get used to talking to Lexa again. She’s Charlie’s mother too and if Clarke -if there’s something she needs to tell Lexa a few weeks from now, she can’t afford to stumble through the conversation. 

Plus, she’s content the way she is.

She’s no longer convincing herself that she made the right choice signing those papers, now she believes it.

She sends the picture.

She starts typing, and stops, starts again and then deletes it. She doesn’t think a caption is necessary, and she wouldn’t know what to write anyway. She’s sure Lexa is familiar with the feeling of missing Charlie whenever she’s away. Clarke has wished more than once that she could peep into a keyhole and see what they’re doing, see if Lexa-

She shakes her head.

She used to want to see if Lexa acted with Charlie the way she used to be before everything happened. If Lexa smiled and laughed and was the same woman she used to be before the miscarriage broke them. If maybe it was just Clarke that was the problem. If their relationship had been the one thing wrong and once it was gone she’d been fine. 

From Charlie’s words, Lexa was better. Clarke was glad. 

She no longer held resentment for her ex-wife, at least not as much. She had their daughter and a better job and now…Finn. There was Finn. 

She waits to see if Lexa answers, but she doesn’t.

Clarke’s last text, which also went unanswered, is from three weeks ago.

We’re late, traffic

She had been on her way to drop off Charlie with Lexa, and when 10 minutes pass their agreed time went by -traffic was a bitch- Lexa had called Clarke, twice.

The text had been Clarke’s answer. 

She used to read their old messages, months ago. She’d scroll back and back and could point out exactly when they signed their divorce papers. (A succinct, tacit, ‘Courtroom, 3:00pm’.) Texts concerning Charlie, texts concerning Lexa moving out of the house. If she was feeling particularly blue she’d go further back, rewind months through their archives.

Lexa asking her when she’d be home for dinner. A selfie with Lexa in the mirror, documenting the little pickle’s growth, Charlie hanging out in the back. 

She used to agonize over those messages, those pictures, go over every conversation in her head, wonder what could she have done differently or better. If she should have forced Lexa to stay home when she wanted to leave. She used to mourn over blurry pictures and fall asleep with aching eyes from the glow of her phone screen.

She deleted the texts. The earliest she can scroll back now is two months ago, a text about Charlie’s dance class being canceled and could she drop Charlie off at Lexa’s apartment instead. She’s glad. 

She’s done thinking about the past.

(So much of what leaves Clarke mouth sounds like self-preservation, like talking herself into things, that she’s started to get used to the taste.)

 

 

_(August 13th, 2023.)_

_“You’ll fall asleep from the waist down, okay?”_

_Clarke talks Lexa through the procedure the doctors are doing, more because it makes her feel useful than because Lexa needs it. Her wife has barely said anything at all._

_Lexa clutches at her hand._

_“Clarke, I don’t want to see.”_

_She looks down at her, wondering what she means when-_

_“Oh, Lexa.” Clarke closes her eyes. She wishes she could forget everything she ever learned in college about fetus development. “It’s okay.” She brushes Lexa’s hair back. “It’s okay baby, you don’t have to see anything.” Lexa nods, flinches from the injection Clarke’s sure she’s received. Her feet are up in stirrups and she’s crying and Clarke’s wrecked about the whole fucking thing. “Look at me,” she pleads with Lexa._

_“I love you. You’re going to be okay. We’re going to be okay.” Lexa nods, and Clarke hopes, begs, she believes her._

_She holds her hand through the procedure, but Lexa checks out. It’s like she’s not even there, and it kills Clarke. She looks around the room, the somber faces of the nurses and the pity with which they look at them._

_She catches sight of- she blanches. Looks back at Lexa._

_“It’s okay,” she tells her, caressing her cheek. For the first time in a while, Lexa looks at her, really focuses on her. ‘I love you’ Clarke mouths._

_“We’re almost done Mrs. Griffin,” the doctor says._

_“It’s Griffin-Woods,” Lexa whispers with a small, tired, smile, the biggest proof of strength and endurance Clarke has ever seen, and Clarke holds her hand tighter._

_The doctor pulls away, Clarke hears the sound of gloves being pulled off, and she leans down to kiss Lexa’s face._

_“It’s over, Lex. It’s over. We’re going home in a little bit, okay?”_

_Lexa nods, and gravity pulls her tears down towards her hair._

 

_Clarke helps Lexa get changed when they get home. Lexa looks away once she’s naked, but Clarke doesn’t notice anything different about her body. Maybe that’s the worst part. She grabs Lexa  shirt and underwear and sweat pants, and, almost as an afterthought, grabs a pad and sticks it on Lexa’s clean underwear. It’s such a painful, odd reminder of how things have turned out._

_Lexa looks at her, brow furrowed._

_“You’re bleeding,” she tells Lexa softly._

_“I can’t feel anything,” Lexa says._

_“The anesthesia will wear off soon. Lift.” She pulls Lexa’s underwear and sweats on, and hands Lexa her shirt, and once its done they don’t have anything to do but look at each other, lost._

_Her mom took Charlie for the night. Her mom told Octavia, so their friends probably know, but no one’s called, and Clarke’s thankful._

_Clarke’s blank._

_“I’m sorry,” Lexa says, and that moves her._

_“You have nothing to apologize about,” she tells Lexa sternly._

_“…feels like I do.”_

_“Listen to me.” Clarke grabs Lexa’s face. “This was no one’s fault. It just happened. And we’re going to get through this, okay?” Clarke’s throat hurts and her eyes sting but she pushes through. “I love you and we’ll get through this, and we’ll try again and it’ll be okay. God, I’m so sorry this happened, Lexa. Are you in pain?”_

_“No.”_

_“Okay.”_

_“Clarke?”_

_“Yes?”_

_“You can cry. It’s okay.”_

_And Clarke breaks._

 

-*-

 

“And then we went up the mountain, and I saw two squirrels, and mama says they probably had a baby squirrel up the tree but I didn’t see it, and then Finn and I played ball, and then we had dinner, Finn made pasta, but it wasn’t as good as yours, and then mama put her laptop so I could talk to you mommy!”

Charlie barely breaths as she recounts her day, and Lexa laughs.

“So you’re having fun?” she asks. Charlie seems happy, and it’s the only thing Lexa could ask for.

“Hmm,” Charlie nods. “I wish you were here.”

Lexa doesn’t let her smile waver.

“But I’ll see you in just a few days, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And just in time for your presentation!” Lexa adjusts the screen of her laptop. “Are you excited? Have you been practicing?”

Charlie nods, and launches into a long-winded explanation of how much she’s been practicing her turns with Clarke, and Lexa takes a second to look around the screen, because she’s only human. Charlie takes up half of it, but beside her daughter Lexa can make out a dark leather couch, and in the distance a kitchen done in dark red woods. From the glow on her daughter’s face, there’s a fireplace in front of her. Finn has a nice vacation place. 

She and Lexa had plans, but they never actually came to anything.

“And I told Zoey that I’d get it right on stage, but she didn’t believe me.”

“I see,” Lexa says. “Well, we’ll show Zoey how wrong she was, won’t we?”

Charlie nods, and then looks up, at something Lexa can’t see beyond the computer.

“Mommy, Mama says we’re roasting marshmallows outside.”

Lexa nods. “Okay, can you ask her to let you call me before you go to bed?”

“I gots to go, mommy,” Charlie says. 

“Okay, call me, yeah?”

Charlie nods, already getting up and suddenly the only thing visible in the screen are a pair of pink shorts with dirtied up knees. 

“I love you!” Lexa says, but the living room is empty. She closes the call when no one comes back to turn the laptop off.

Lexa sits back against her headboard.

She thought Charlie would have a hard time being apart from her for a week, but she seems fine, seems to be the happy little girl she always is. Lexa is the one having trouble accepting that.

It stings a little, but then she remembers how easily Charlie seems to say goodbye to Clarke nowadays, too, and it makes Lexa think her daughter is just growing up - needing them less and less, becoming more independent. It makes Lexa think about the Polis Corp job offer, and how she could take it.

Because maybe Charlie can take this, one week with each of them.  Maybe it’s a real possibility for them, for Lexa. Perhaps distance wasn’t the right call to make, before, but it has to be now. It’s the option Lexa has left.

 

 

_(August 13th, 2023.)_

_She holds Clarke while she cries._

_She doesn’t think she’s ever seen her wife cry so hard, be so heartbroken, except in those first few days after Jake passed away. Their relationship was young still, and it was the first big thing they faced together. Lexa held her through that, too, and it only made them stronger._

_She’d been in love with Clarke for her wit, and her charm, and her intelligence, and her beauty -but after those nights of tears and red cheeks and running nose- Lexa fell in love with her strength, her resilience._

_She loves her now, too, though she can find it in her to love herself._

_She knows it wasn’t her fault, on a logical level, she knows. But that’s not what it feels like, and it kills Lexa._

_She holds Clarke harder when she coughs, choking on tears, and she -she takes a step back. She’s a teenager and her mom has just died. She’s getting a call because her father has succumbed to his illness._

_If she wants to survive this she can’t cry with Clarke, so she holds her wife and forces everything inside her chest and mind to take a step back._

_She needs to be logical about it. I was pregnant, and now I’m not. It’s how she can deal. She’s done it before.  She survived back then and she’ll do it now, too._

_Clarke’s tears come to a stop, and the band around Lexa’s lungs loosens._

_“I -huh- Are you hungry?” Clarke asks, brushing the tears from her cheeks. “Do you want me to make you some dinner?”_

_Lexa shakes her head. The anesthesia is finally fading and she doesn’t think she could keep anything down._

_“You go have dinner,” she tells her wife._

_“I’m not leaving you alone.”_

_Lexa shakes her head. She needs to be, needs to pull herself together._

_“Go,” she says, a bit louder._

_Clarke looks at her, and finally nods._

_“I’m going to make us both sandwiches, okay? And we can eat them in bed-”_

_“I’m no position to tell you no.”_

_Clarke blanches, and Lexa realizes that her joke hurt her, but Clarke is always letting Charlie get into bed with late night snacks, and she always tries to get Lexa to let her bring food into their own bed, and Lexa hates the crumbs._

_“I was- “ Lexa tries. “I’m sorry, I was…I was joking.”_

_“I can bring a table, I think Charlie has-”_

_“No, it’s okay. Just this once I- I don’t mind.”_

_Clarke looks at her, and Lexa feels like looking away. Her wife leans down and kisses her forehead softly._

_“I’ll be back in a minute, okay?"_

 

 

Lexa pulls up to the house.

It’s a bit odd, how she calls it ‘the house’ now, to herself and others, instead of saying Clarke’s, because she can’t say ‘home’. 

She pulls up to the house and she sees Abby’s car in the driveway, and she’s sure Kane is somewhere around, too. If she didn’t know Abby so well she’d think it a coincidence, instead of a helping hand to Lexa so she doesn’t have to spend time with both Clarke and her boyfriend, by herself.

Abby hugs her when gets out of the car.

“Lexa!” She grabs her by the arms. “How are things?”

Lexa gives her a practiced smile.

“Good, good, yeah.”

“Clarke called, there’s a bit of traffic but they should be here soon.”

She walks back inside the house with her, sees Kane and his dog on the couch. The animal gets up to sniff her hand, ignoring Kane’s calls of ‘Shadow!’ and LExa smiles while she scratches his head.

Maybe she should get a dog. If she moves-

Maybe she’ll get a dog. Charlie would love that. Her current apartment doesn’t allow animals but Lexa could move some place that would. Some place with a pool, too, so she could teach Charlie to swim properly.

She sits down.

She makes small talk with Kane and Abby, listens to their plans to build a garden in their backyard, maybe with a small pond -Kane likes Koi fish, these days. Lexa speaks at the right times, but all the while her mind is spinning.

It’s been so long since she thought about possibilities, since she stopped focusing on the past and living day by day and thought about the future. And no one else knows.

That’s what hits her the most. 

She turns to look at Kane, and finds him getting up, clasping a collar on his dog.

“So…what’s on your mind?” Abby asks her, and Lexa turns around to meet her eyes. Abby looks concerned for her, like she so often did back after the miscarriage, when she and Clarke were still married. She’s never actually stopped being concerned over Lexa, and she’s thankful now.

“I was offered a job,” she says, and saying it out loud feels like a weight off her shoulders.

“That’s great!” Abby says.

“It’s in Pennsylvania.”

Understanding dawns on Abby’s face.

“Oh. Lexa, are you…are you moving? What about Charlie?”

“No,” she says, but realizes it’s a lie. “No, I - I don’t know.”

“Have you told Clarke?” Abby asks, and Lexa shakes her head, adamant.

“No! Not yet. I have to decide and we’d have to change our schedule. But I’d never abandon Charlie,” she defends herself. “I’d never settle for weekends, you know that. I just…it’s getting harder and harder to be here.”

Abby nods, and Lexa braces for a reprimand that never comes so she keeps talking, just lets it all out. 

“Polis Corporation. They offered me an in-house job. I didn’t even apply recently, but now that I’ve got it…I don’t know, I just needed to tell someone.”

“That you’re thinking about it.”

Abby looks at her, and Lexa, slowly, nods.

“That I’m…I’m thinking about it.”

But when she sees the car pull into the driveway, and her daughter jumps off it, running to Lexa and throwing her arms around her waist -she doesn’t have room to think about anything else at all.

 

 

_(August 13th, 2023.)_

_Charlie calls._

_Lexa’s mostly untouched sandwich sits on their nightstand, Clarke writes an email to the hospital so she can take time off, and the ringing sound of Lexa’s cell phone breaks into the silence._

_Clarke is on it before Lexa can even try to get up._

_“Hi, mom?”_

_Lexa is instantly concerned something has happened to Charlie, but with one look Clarke lets her know things are okay, and she relaxes back down._

_Clarke walks away far enough from their bed that Lexa has trouble hearing what she’s saying, and she gets the feeling Clarke wants it that way. Lexa doesn’t need to be protected._

_The anesthesia has faded and there’s some pain now, low on her back and it reminds her of this morning, of what stared all this, but she’s not fragile._

_Clarke turns toward her, covering the cell with her palm._

_“Charlie wants to talk to you,” she half-whispers._

_Lexa nods, extends her hand. She doesn’t know what she’ll say and the knot in her throat is growing by the second but she needs her daughter._

_“Mommy?”_

_“Hi, baby,” Lexa says, and realizes her voice sounds wrecked._

_“Mommy are you okay?”_

_Clarke hands her some water, and Lexa forces herself to drink it._

_“Of course, Charlie, mommy is fine.”_

_“I wanna go home,” Charlie says. Lexa closes her eyes._

_“But you’re with grandma. Is shadow there?” Kane’s husky puppy is an endless source of wonder for Charlie, and has prompted her to beg for her own dog. They said no. She and Clarke were expecting a baby, they couldn’t train and clean after and overexcited puppy. Lexa feels bile in her throat-_

_“Yes.”_

_“See? You can play with Shadow and sleep over at grandma’s, okay?”_

_Charlie grumbles. “I want mama.” She’s smart to do that now, has started to realize that if one of them doesn’t give her what she wants she can ask again until she likes the answer._

_“Okay,” Lexa says. “I love you.”_

_“I love you. I want mama now.”_

_“Okay.”_

_She hands Clarke the phone._

_She hears Clarke plead with Charlie to behave and be nice to her grandma and Kane. They’ll get her in the morning. She hears Charlie throw a tantrum over the phone and Clarke try to reason with their little girl and it hurts, it all hurts Lexa and she tunes it out. She doesn’t know what’s next. She can’t look at her daughter right now._

_She doesn’t feel strong enough to anything at all. The day has drained her._

_“Lexa?”_

_She feels Clarke’s hand on her shoulder, and realizes she let her eyes slip closed. Her bones know how tired she is._

_She looks up at her wife._

_“We’ll figure out a way to tell her in the morning, okay?” Clarke offers, her eyes shining as she bites her lip. Lexa nods, and lets herself falls asleep._

_The hurt doesn’t stop._

 

 

The theater is packed.

She’s been here before, last year for one of River’s presentations, but it’s nerve wracking now that it’s her own kid.

Getting Charlie ready falls on her, and Lexa spends the morning chasing after a half naked 7-year-old who has no idea where her jazz shoes are. She calls Clarke, then Abby. They are underneath Lexa’s couch.

She climbs in the car with a few minutes to spare, and she makes an uncharacteristic stop at Mcdonald’s to get some food in her daughter. (Lexa uses ‘food’ very liberally, because she knows it’s only a step above plastic, but circumstances are desperate.)

Charlie runs to meet River as soon as they get to the theater, and she hands her costume and bag to Charlie’s teacher.

“Thank you, Luna, really-”

“Don’t worry about it, Lexa. The first presentation is always like this. She’ll be a pro in no time,” Luna says, and winks at her, and Lexa gives her a nervous smile. “Miss Griffin!" Luna exclaims, looking behind her. "I was just talking about Charlie.”

“She ran backstage with River,” Lexa turns and explains, and her eyes are on Clarke’s. She’s wearing a blue blouse, and dark makeup, and Lexa is suddenly staring at skin. The color accents her eyes. Lexa looks away.

“She’s very excited, I’m sure,” Luna says. “I’ll go leave this with her. Don’t worry, we have some of our staff helping the little ones get ready backstage.” She gives them an easy smile. “Go get a seat, moms, it’ll be fine.”

Luna leaves through the door Charlie took, and Lexa is left alone with Clarke.

And the thing is, Clarke is beautiful, will always be beautiful in Lexa’s eyes, and if her heart speeds up a little from the sight of the woman- -well, Lexa can’t help that.

“C’mon,” Clarke tells her, nodding back towards the audience. “We saved you a seat.”

She’s on the end of the line, sitting next to Lincoln, who gives her a smile and handshake when she sits down. Octavia sits next to him, a hand on her belly, and Lexa barely stumbles when she asks about their baby.

Abby speaks to Kane next to them, and then there’s Clarke -and on her other side, Finn. Lexa doesn’t know why it shocks her to see him there, when he’s been a staple in Clarke’s life for months now, but it does. Charlie feels hers, just hers and Clarke’s and their family’s, and everything in Lexa recoils at the thought of him being here, but she can’t say anything about it.

She laughs at something he says, and she looks away. 

The lights dim, and the show starts.

The toddlers are first, tiny little girls wearing pink tutus and following a teacher who stands in the middle of the stage, and it reminds Lexa of when Charlie was that small, when she wrapped her arms around their legs and babbled and curled up on their laps at any given moment. Lexa’s heart clenches. 

She looks to Clarke -almost on instinct- and finds Clarke is staring back at her. 

Clarke offers her a smile, and Lexa returns it.

It’s probably the first moment of connection they’ve had in months, just the two of them, even in the middle of an audience and with their friends sitting between them. It lasts but a second.

Clarke and Octavia go to the bathroom after the first block of presentations are done, and Lexa gives Octavia a sympathetic smile. She remembers what it was like, the endless peeing, and she’s almost surprised because the memory doesn’t sting. It hurts, dull and aching like Lexa thinks it always will, but she can bear it.

The light dim back done before they’re back, and Lexa has half a thought that Clarke is going to miss their daughter. They come back in the middle of the hip-hop groups, and Lexa recognizes enough kids to know they’re in Charlie’s age group.

Octavia settles back down on her seat, but Clarke leans down to Lexa.

“Did I miss her?” She asks, and Lexa tries not to breathe too deeply because Clarke is so close, and she wears the same perfume.

“No, I think she’s up next.”

Clarke nods.

And then she surprises Lexa and sits next to her.

Charlie’s group is next and their entire row claps when they come on stage. She can see sparkles on Charlie’s face even from afar, and the feathers on her costume that never sat properly are were they’re supposed to be now, and Lexa’s throat hurts a little, because her daughter looks so beautiful.

The number is amazing, thought Lexa might be biased, but it’s definitely a step above what she’d expect from 7 and 8 year olds. She finds herself singing along to some of the songs on the remix at times, from how many times she’s heard the coming from Charlie’s room as she practiced.

They form a U on stage, and one by one the little kids turn like Lexa has only seeing it in ballet movies, some great and others not so well, and Lexa holds her breath when they line moves down to Charlie.

She hears Clarke do the same next to her, when there’s only one little girl to before their daughter is up.

Lexa isn’t sure who reaches for whom first, but suddenly Clarke’s hand is holding hers and the shock of it is so big she almost misses Charlie’s part.

Her daughter turns twice, perfectly, and lands with her arms held high and a big smile on her face. Clarke turns to her for a second with a huge smile and then lets go of her hand to clap.

Lexa does the same, but she can still feel Clarke’s touch. 

 

They take Charlie to dinner after the presentation is over.

River is too tired after dancing twice, in two different numbers, and Octavia and Lincoln decline their invite and take her home. It’s just her and Clarke now, after Clarke said goodbye to Finn in the parking lot -Lexa busied herself with getting Charlie and her things in the car.

“I was thinking…that new restaurant on fifth?” Clarke asks, getting into the front seat of Lexa’s car. 

“I know that one,” Lexa says, and puts it in the car’s navigation system because she doesn’t, she hasn’t been to a restaurant in ages.

Charlie doesn’t run out of steam the whole drive over, and it’s what keeps things from getting awkward. Their daughter talks about all the mistakes she made during the routine (she and Clarke assure her no one could tell) and how she managed to land the turns even though she thought she wouldn’t, and it all keeps Lexa from thinking about the last time she and Clarke shared a car. She can’t remember.

They’re seated as soon as they get there, and Lexa gets a chance to breathe while they look at the menus.

Charlie gets one for herself, and she smiles at the fact, sits up taller.

Lexa looks at her and at Clarke, and things almost feel normal again, it’s disconcerting. 

She and Clarke danced together at Charlie’s birthday party, and they haven’t been so close since then. The small four people table would be almost stifling if they weren't both focused on Charlie instead of each other.

Her daughter looks elated.

Charlie grins when they tell her she can order anything she wants (as if that wasn’t the usual). Her daughter is a sweet little girl, and humble, but even she can’t resist the feeling of being celebrated. She refused to take her sparkly makeup-stickers off, basks in the fact that quite clearly, she just came from a show.

Charlie orders by herself, enunciates the words to the waiter and smiles when he takes her seriously and asks her what she’ll have to drink. It makes Lexa smile. It makes Clarke smile, too, but with her daughter so near it doesn’t hurt.

She doesn’t know if it should, anymore. If she should feel anything at all.

For so long, Clarke ached in her. 

Every time she saw her on switch days it felt like a thorn in Lexa’s chest, barbed and buried so deep she had no hope of ever removing it. It felt like it was always destined to hurt. And for so long, every news she got about Clarke from her friends -their friends- ached. Clarke was promoted, Clarke had a boyfriend, Clarke was moving on and forward and it killed Lexa.

And then she remembered Clarke leaning on her while she gave birth, her tears and sweat and the way she laughed and cried at the same time when Charlie was finally born. And that killed her too.

For so long she’s been dying inside.

Their food arrives to the table, and Charlie’s knife and fork are too big and clunky for her to properly cut her chicken, so Clarke takes over. Charlie pouts.

For so long things have hurt, but she can’t live like that anymore.

It’s terrifying, letting go, but she has to do it. Clarke did a long time ago. Lexa has been living on a fault line since everything happened. Since she…since she lost the baby, and the fighting begun, and even when they separated, even after she signed the papers she kept waiting for something to give, to change. The solid ground she stood was broken, ripped apart by death, and she hasn’t recovered. She’s been waiting for something to happen, and she’s beginning to realize it’s her own inaction that’s been keeping her like this. 

With a deep breath, Lexa begins to let it go. She stops thinking about the fights and the papers and the pain, and focuses on the now. She can’t change history anymore, but she can focus on her daughter and on being a good mom. 

She thinks of her and Clarke back at the theater, of that touch -holding her hand over the one thing they share still, their daughter. It was a one time thing brought by nerves, she’s sure, but it makes her think. She and Clarke barely speak. If she’s going to…if she’s going to move, she needs to be able to communicate with her ex-wife, and so Lexa vows to forget about everything and try. Charlie deserves as much.

Charlie currently laughs out loud, high on the feeling of being celebrated by both of her moms. They should do it more often. 

“Zoey was so jealous,” Charlie says. “She only did one, and she didn’t land right.”

“Well, we don’t get excited over other people doing a bad job, okay?” Clarke says.

“I know,” Charlie says. “But she thought I couldn’t do it, I told mommy. Mommy?”

“Yeah,” Lexa says, getting out of her own head. “Zoey wasn’t very nice, but that doesn’t mean we can be mean. Listen to your mom.” Lexa is surprised at the words. They feels foreign, and she wonders what can of shit job have they, has she being doing the past year as a parent that she’s so disconnected from talking about her daughter’s other mom.

“Okay,” Charlie says, pouting -but Lexa can tell its for effect.

It’s easier after that.

She hasn’t spent so much time with Clarke since they separated, and it doesn’t feel any different, once she pushes away any resentment or pain it feels as normal as breathing, falling back into the roles they used to feel perfectly.

She and Clarke joke with each other for Charlie’s benefit, conspire in stage whispers just to pull another smile from Charlie. Clarke is such a good actress, because Lexa almost feels like it’s real, like it’s not just an act from her ex-wife to make their daughter happy. The smiles and the teasing that feel so incredibly normal, but is no longer who they are.

Charlie launches into another story from the whole three hours they spent apart while she was backstage, and Lexa settles down to listen with a pleasant smile.

At some point, it stops feeling like an act from Clarke. Maybe it never was. 

Maybe they can do this, be good parents and be civil towards each other. It’s one thing thinking it but feeling it in action? She wonders how much time she’s wasted sinking, and promises to stop.

Near the end of Charlie’s story, Clarke steals a fry from her plate. 

“Should’ve gone with the fries, I always tell you that,” she tells Clarke. And no, she doesn’t, not anymore. But Clarke hasnt noticed her slip, and she doesn’t want to ruin the atmosphere. “Charlie, did you know your mother used to be a food thief?” she asks, and her daughter brightens up even more, as expected.

“When?”

“When she was pregnant with you. She would steal half the food from my plate.” She doesn’t look up at Clarke, doesn’t think she could. Doesn’t want to know if she’s crossed a line, because until now they’ve avoided speaking of the past. “Oh, and she used to blame you for it too.”

“Did you? Mama!”

“I was eating for two,” Clarke says, and she doesn’t sound upset. She sounds -and looks- like the woman Lexa married so long ago. “I was trying to grow you properly! You have two ears and two eyes because of me, you’re welcome.”

Charlie laughs, and for the first time in a long while, Lexa laughs too, at something someone other than her daughter has said.

“Do you want dessert?” Clarke asks Charlie. “Or are you too full?”

“Dessert,” Charlie says sheekily. “Please?”

 She orders a brownie.

It’s a ten dollar monstrosity, topped with ice cream and whipped cream and cherries, from the picture in the menu. 

Lexa and Clarke look at each other. Charlie’s not going to eat it, and they both know it. But they let her order it anyways.

(It’s odd, having a conversation with just their eyes again.)

Charlie’s eyes light up when the plate arrives at the table. And she tries valiantly to eat, she and Clarke even help her a little, but soon enough their daughter chews the chocolate like it’s a chore.

“If you don’t want it anymore, don’t force yourself to eat it,” Lexa tells her. “You’ll make yourself sick, baby.”

“I’m so full,” she says. “But I wanted it.”

“We can get it to go, yeah?” Clarke offers, and Charlie eagerly nods.

They get it to go, and they get the check, and Clarke insists on paying. Lexa refuses, doesn’t want Clarke paying for her and anyways it’s her time with Charlie right now. Lexa chances a look at her daughter, her big blue eyes following them both, and then tells herself, no  more.

“Okay,” she tells Clarke easily. “Thank you. I’ll get it next time.”

Clarke looks surprised but she doesn’t comment on it.

Lexa drops Clarke back at the house afterward, and looks through the rear-view mirror as Clarke says goodbye to Charlie. It’s the first time in months she can remember feeling bad for the other woman. 

“Can I call River when we get home?” Charlie pipes up.

“I’ll call her parents to see if she’s awake, how about that?”

“Okay.” Charlie looks out the window, her brow furrowed. 

“Everything okay?” Lexa asks.

Charlie looks at her through the rear-view mirror. 

“Are you and mama not mad at each other anymore?” Charlie asks simply, and Lexa swallows.

Maybe her therapist was right, maybe what’s best for Charlie is having a healthy, happy mother. Maybe what’s best for Lexa is getting to a place where she can try to do that. She can be better with Clarke, and be better to herself. Somewhere better.

“No, baby,” she tells Charlie. “Things…things are going to be better now, okay?”

Charlie nods, and Lexa hopes her daughter believes her. She means it this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	6. Interlude:Charlie

The phone rings for forever.

Her mama stands near the end of the couch, waiting for River or her dad to pick up. (Even though Charlie told her she was old enough to call on her own. She had to bite back her words when her mom asked her to give her the number, then, and Charlie couldn’t remember anything apart from it having a seven somewhere in there.)

Charlie sits in the couch while she waits, her knee jumping up and down.

Her mommy had called after the restaurant, and River was asleep, so Charlie had to go to bed. And then she spent a busy day with her mommy and forgot all about it, and then she went to bed again. This time, she pressed her hands against her eyes tight, hoping all the things she wanted to tell River would stay there until morning when her mama would pick her up. She didn’t want to forget. She wishes she had a cell phone like River, so she could have recorded a video of that night at the restaurant and she could watch it over and over again. So she could show River. So she wouldn’t ever forget.

It felt like _Before_.

Her mama and her mommy didn’t fight not once, and they laughed together, and Charlie almost didn’t want to speak because it was like... Like when her aunt O bought her this gun that shot bubbles, and Charlie had way too much fun bursting them with her finger. They were pretty, but easy to break. She couldn’t touch them. 

It was almost like that last night.

Except her mama and her mommy were real and solid, and she saw it, and she needs to tell River because she isn’t making stuff up now.

“Hi, O? Is River there? Charlie wants to…yeah” Her mama taps her foot, and sticks her tongue out at her when Charlie gets up and hang herself from her arm. Her mama can’t lift her up with just one anymore. Maybe because she’s taller, Charlie thinks. “Hey, Charlie, how about something better than the phone? Do you want to go to the park with River?”

Charlie nods so fast everything goes blurry.

“Of course, O, you’d think she’d ever refuse?” Charlie jumps onto the couch, only to climb back down when her mama points at her and then at the floor. She doesn’t want to risk being bad and then not getting to go to the park. “Is Linc gonna come instead? Sure.” Her mama sits down on the couch, and Charlie rolls her eyes, because that means that they’re not gonna leave for a while. “Go change,” her mama mouths, and Charlie runs to her bedroom.

She gets to see her best friend, and she gets to tell her all about the day before.

It’s a good day. 

 

 

( _October 11th, 2023.)_

_“I think you weren’t going to be a big sister at all,” Rose says, putting her hands on her hips and Charlie bristles, because she’s not a liar._

_“I was,” she says, puffing out her chest. She got a gold star taken away for speaking in class, and her sandwich fell to the floor during recess before she could finish it, and now Rose is picking on her. It’s not a good day for Charlie._

_“Was not!” Rose tells her, and Charlie hates that she’s taller. She raises up on the tips of her toes to make up for it._

_“Was too!”_

_Her name being called from afar makes her head whip around, and she can see her mama at the door, her green clothes from the hospital making her stand out among the other moms._

_“Mama!”_

_Charlie runs the fastest she’s ever run to reach her, and then she’s flying when she’s picked up._

_“Mama, Rose was being mean to me, she said, she said-”_

_“Is it true Charlie was going to be a big sister?”_

_Charlie looks down, and Rose stands there -she must have run just as fast as Charlie, and it’s another thing about the girl she can’t stand._

_“It is!” She says, squirming until her mom puts her down. “I told you.” She pulls on her mama’s shirt. “Tell her, mama.”_

_Her mama smiles, but not in the way she smiles at Charlie or how she used to smile at her mom. It’s different. It’s a smile that seems sad and smiles are not supposed to be sad. It feels like lying._

_“Yes, she was. But…there was an…accident. And now she won’t be a big sister for a while, but maybe one day.”_

_Rose looks mad, like she was hoping Charlie was a liar, but Charlie doesn’t get to tell her anything because her mama is grabbing her hand and they’re walking toward the door._

_It doesn’t even feel that good to stick her tongue out at Rose behind her mama’s back._

_In the car, Charlie wishes she hadn’t said anything at all._

_She looks at her mama through the car’s mirror, and her eyebrows are all scrunched up. It makes Charlie’s belly hurt._

_She wants to apologize, she’s just not sure what she’d be apologizing for. But she wants to say ‘sorry, I won’t do it again’. She’d say anything for her mama to stop looking like that._

_She’d do anything to be a big sister and for things to go back to normal. But the car starts, and Charlie doesn’t say anything at all._

 

 

 

The park is almost too hot when they get there. 

Charlie picks a tree for her and River to sit beneath, where it’s cool and nice and most importantly, away from the grown ups. River’s dad, her uncle Lincoln, sits with her mama on a stone bench at the edge of the park. Her auntie O is picking them up, and then Charlie and her mama are having lunch.

Once they arrive at the secluded spot, she plops down on the grass, and she tells River all about last night.

“And when Finn goes away, they’ll get married again, and I’ll get to watch this time.” It’s make believe, part of her knows that, like when she and River pretend to be princesses. But part of her really thinks it could happen. 

Besides, it had always made Charlie sort of sad, knowing that her mommies had had a big party once upon a time, with white dresses and the biggest cake Charlie has seen, and Charlie wasn’t there. Her mama told her she wasn’t in her tummy yet, that she wasn’t even an idea yet, but Charlie still thought it wasn’t fair. She deserves to see that.

River is looking at her with this expression Charlie has never liked, so she looks away.

River sighs.

“Do you remember what they told you?”

“Not all of it,” Charlie says stubbornly, because she does remember, but River is doing that thing she does where she acts like Charlie is being a little girl who doesn’t know anything. Charlie doesn’t need River to explain.

She remembers her mommies explaining they weren’t going to be together anymore, or ever, because that’s what a divorce meant, but she saw them last night and River didn’t. She’s almost 100% sure the fighting is over. Plus, her mama promised everything would be better now, and what could be better than living together again? River’s expression still doesn’t change.

“Well, you do have a tendency to forget things you don’t like,” River says.

“What’s a tendency?” Charlie asks her.

“It means something you do a lot. We learned it in class last year.”

River was always doing that, telling her things she’d learned in class because she was so much older than Charlie. Charlie tried hard to remember the word so she could use it later.

“Wanna hear what I did?” River asks, and Charlie nods.

River tells her how they went home right away because she was too tired, and how for the first time in ages they ordered pizza. Charlie thinks that’s funny, and also silly. Uncle Lincoln’s food is great.

“And my mom’s belly is bigger everyday,” River says. “I keep thinking she’s gonna pop!”

Charlie laughs at the thought of auntie O’s shirt popping like a balloon, leaving her all skinny again. 

“The baby will be here soon.”

“Oh, right.” Sometimes Charlie forgets that she’s so fat because she’s actually keeping a baby in there.

“Do you remember when your mom was like that?” River asks. It’s weird, because sometimes she’ll forget all about the baby, and something will make her remember.

Charlie shakes her head. “My mommy was never that fat.” She rips some grass out, trying to remember. It was so long ago. “I remember talking to her tummy, though,” she says. “She had a little tummy.” Charlie makes the size with her hands, and pushes it against her shirt.

“You know, it’s not fair that you get a baby and we didn’t,” she says.

River nods, plays with a rock like she doesn’t know what to say. But Charlie isn’t mad about it anymore, and she’s not trying to make River feel bad.

“Well you can play with my brother all you want,” River promises.

Charlie brightens up. “Cool. Do you think we can make him ride Benny like a horse?” 

River laughs, and nods.

Benny is Raven’s dog, who helps her around the house, and he was the smartest dog in the world. Charlie was too big to ride him, but her mama showed her a picture of herself as a baby, on the dog’s back. It would be so fun to put River’s brother there.

“Wait, what’s his name gonna be?” She asks River, because it’s a little weird to think of the maybe-baby on Auntie O’s tummy. Maybe if he had a name it’d be more real. 

“I don’t know yet,” River tells her. “My mom likes Hunter, and my dad keeps telling her she’s ‘taking it too far’.” River puffs out her chest like her dad and Charlie laughs.

“What’s that mean?” Charlie asks. 

River shrugs. “I don’t know. But they should pick fast, or he’s gonna be awful confused when he gets here.”

“River Blake! Your mom is here!”

They both look up to the end of the grass, where the street begins and their parents were sitting. She can see Auntie O standing there, with a long dress and her hand on her belly. River smiles at her mom, and stands up like a spring.

“I gotta go,” River says, fast. “I’ll see you in dance?”

Charlie nods. “Yup! But I don’t know who’s taking me.” It’s the first practice since the recital, and it’s not on one of her usual days. She knows who is taking her to school and normal dance practice, she learned how many days she got with her mom and then her mama and then her mom again by heart. 

But sometimes when it changes there’s something really dark that covers Charlie, like a rain cloud, that makes her think maybe no one will take her at all, or they’ll forget to pick her up. She hates not knowing.

“Just ask your moms,” River tells her, and Charlie wants to tell her it’s not so easy but she’s leaving already. “Bye, Char!”

Charlie waves at River. Sometimes she’ll call her ‘Char’ and Charlie will call her ‘Riv’ and they’ll feel very grown up, like it’s practice for middle school even though it’s 4 whole years away for Charlie. Maybe by then she’ll be allowed a cell-phone like River’s.

Maybe by then her moms will be together again, too. 

 

 

 

 _(February 21st, 2024_.)

_“We decided we need to take some time to fix that, so we won’t be living together anymore.”_

_Charlie doesn’t know what that means._

_Her tummy hurts._

_“Mommy will be moving to an apartment in a week, and I will stay here,” her mama says, but it doesn’t make her feel better. And Mama always makes her feel better. “You’re still going to see Mommy all the time.”_

_But her mommy looks like she’s crying, like she has a very bad hurt and it makes Charlie want to cry, too. It all starts to make sense._

_“You’re leaving me?” She asks her mommy, trying to hold it in because her mama has told her she needs to speak clearly and they can’t understand if she’s crying and speaking at the same time. But she’s scared, she’s so, so scared._

_“No! Never.” Her mommy says, but it still doesn’t make her feel better. “You’ll live with me some days, and with your Mama some other days, yes? No one’s leaving you.”_

_She doesn’t understand, she doesn’t want to. And she can’t keep it in anymore._

_“Lexa,” her mama says, in the voice she uses when someone did something wrong. Her mommy looks back at her and Charlie can’t make sense of what they just said. She needs help. Her mommy told her to always ask for help when she needs it. But right now she doesn’t know how to. She doesn’t know what’s going to happen._

_And her moms are still looking at each other over her head and they seem mad and-_

_She’s right here. She’s right here! And she doesn’t like this._

_But it’s like they can’t see her._

 

 

 

The days pass faster than she realizes it.

It’s a long weekend again, so she stays with her mama for three days at their house, and though she calls her mommy every night Charlie still misses her so much she’s almost jumping out of her skin waiting by the front door, when it’s finally time to switch.

It’s like she told River, it’s so complicated, so dumb. If they all lived in the same place she’d never have to miss anyone.

Her mommy’s car is out front, then, and only her mama’s hands on her shoulders stop her from opening the heavy door and dashing out.

“Mommy!” 

Her mama lets her go once the car is turned off and her mommy is getting out of it, and Charlie runs, and jumps into her mommy’s arms. She breathes in, inhaling her perfume. Charlie rests her cheek against her shoulder. Her suits are always so nice.

“Hi, baby. Did you have fun?”

Charlie nods. “Me and River went to the park,” she mentions.

“That’s nice.”

And then everything is silent and Charlie pulls away, only to find her mommies looking at each other.

“Charlie, do you have your things?” Her mommy asks. “Do you wanna wait in the car?”

Charlie nods, but at the last second wriggles down, and drops her backpack. “I forgot something!” She says, and runs to the hallway, but she doesn’t go to her room. No, she acts like a spy instead, and crouches near the front door, hearing. She can’t really make out what they say at first, so she covers her eyes to focus.

“Would you like to meet somewhere? Just to talk.” She hears her mama say. Charlie risks a look only to cover her mouth when she sees her mama squeezing her mommy’s hand “I know…I know how things ended but.” She sighs. “We cant carry on like this, Lexa.”

“I agree.”

Charlie doesn’t know what any of it means, but she knows it’s important, because they’re so serious, and she can’t remember the last time they held hands like that. She starts to think maybe River was wrong, maybe she’s the one who’s right here. 

“Charlie?!” her mommy calls out, and Charlie jumps back. She runs to her room, her heart beating fast inside her chest.

“Charlie, did you find what you were looking for?”

She looks up when her mommy comes in, and shakes her head.

“What was it?”

Charlie shrugs. “I can’t remember,” she says.

“Well, let’s go home, okay?” her mommy asks, and Charlie nods, even though she thinks they are home, and they’re just going to her mommy’s apartment. Her mom picks her up, and Charlie wraps her legs around her and lets her carry her out.

 

 

_(April 9th, 2023.)_

_“Snuggles?” she asks her mommy, holding out her arms. Her mommy picks her up._

_“Snuggles,” she repeats into Charlie’s hair, holding her tight, and then tighter, until Charlie laughs._

_“Remember I’ll be late tonight, sweetheart,” her mommy says. Charlie stops laughing._

_She always remembers, because she doesn't like mommy being late. Sometimes she falls asleep before her mommy gets home, and she doesn't get to see her until the next breakfast, and it’s way too long._

_“Okay,” she says._

_“Okay,” her mommy says, and then she’s getting passed over to her mama, who receives her with open arms. Her mama smells like breakfast, like the waffles and bacon she’s cooking. Charlie likes it._

_She watches as her mommy gets her papers inside her briefcase. She kisses Charlie on the forehead, and then kisses her mommy too, and then she’s walking out the door._

_“Mommy!” Charlie screams, stopping her._

_“What’s wrong?” Her mommy asks, and her mama rubs her back._

_“Snuggles? Again?”_

_Her mommy smiles, this soft smile that makes Charlie feel like she’s getting hugged even though her mommy is very far way._

_“Of course.”_

_And then her mommy’s arms are around her and her mama is hugging her and her mommy is hugging her and Charlie thinks there’s no better place anywhere in the world to be._

 

 

“Can we make pancakes with whipped cream for dinner?” Charlie asks.

“How about something a bit more healthy?” Her mommy says, and Charlie wants to sigh. Her mommy always thinks they should eat healthier, and Charlie wouldn’t mind, if unhealthy food didn’t taste better.

“But we always make pancakes when I haven’t been with you in a while,” she whines. “It’s…” she struggles to remember. “It’s tendency.”

“Tendency?” her mommy asks. “Big word.”

“It means something I do a lot,” Charlie says, proud.

Her mom laughs.

“You’re brilliant,” she says.

Charlie smiles, feels warm all over like she always does when her mommy tells her she’s good.

“Okay. We can have those pancakes.”

Charlie sits up in the breakfast island, and watches her mommy buzz around the kitchen, putting all the ingredients for pancakes ready. Soon enough the kitchen will smell like cinnamon, which is her mommy’s secret ingredient, and then she’ll have pancakes and she’ll get to put strawberry jam on them, and it’ll be great.

Her mama likes syrup on them. But her mama isn’t here, they’re never together for pancakes at dinner anymore.

Charlie misses it, so badly it makes her stomach hurt and her eyes thing.

She remembers back to the house, back to their hands, remembers even further back to the restaurant after her dance recital.

She wants to ask.

She wants to ask if finally, after so long, they’re going to be all together again, if they like each other again, if this is going to be over. 

She wants to ask.

But she remembers the crying, and the fights, and the sadness on their faces, and how badly her stomach hurt when she saw that. She wants to ask, but she doesn’t want to upset her mommy.

She wants to ask, but she’s afraid of the answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: This was a bit of a filler chapter, I wanted to move away from the plot for a second so we could see Charlie's pov, now that we're more-or-less halfway through the fic. Next chapter we go back to Clarke and Lexa, finally see how they decided to live apart in the past, and in the present some things are learned.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for graphic medical procedure/blood.

The diner is half-full, the buzz from conversations around them a perfect backdrop for a casual, easy lunch. It’s past 3 already, though, so Clarke isn’t sure if it counts as lunch. Not dinner, yet, though. She’s having dinner with Finn and Charlie back home. 

Is there even a word to describe a meal at this time? Like brunch? Clarke is nervous.

Her ex-wife sits across from her, idly thumbing her phone while they wait for the food to arrive.

She doesn’t blame Lexa, she can read her face like it was still the first day (Clarke wonders if that will ever stop) and knows by her frown, she’s nervous too. Lexa uses books and cell phones like crutches when she’s nervous, which almost never happened. 

Clarke looks out to the street.

It’s not uncomfortable per see, just strange, after so long. She knows it won’t last. Once their food gets here and now that they’re both firmly trying, things will go back to normal. Or, their new normal, the one they’re trying to build. They can be civil, and talk, just talk. (At least, Clarke hopes. She doesn’t think the other night was a fluke.)

Because the other night Clarke had slipped back into banter with Lexa so easily. She’d spoken to her as easy as breathing, like the months, years hadn’t passed. Flirting, is what she was did at one point, which is all sorts of ridiculous, because she has a boyfriend and Lexa is her ex-wife.

(It had nothing to do with the way Luna was looking at Lexa back at the theater, the obvious look in her eyes as she flirted with her ex-wife in front of her eyes. How it prickled, in her chest and across her skin. Not that it matters. Lexa can do what she wants. Clarke knows it’s irrational, that she doesn’t have a leg to stand on here, that she doesn’t get to be uncomfortable. Still.)

But that hour, at the restaurant? 

It was the first time this week Clarke hadn’t been consumed with worry about her appointment. Lexa’s presence always had a way of calming her down, and its the excuse she gives herself, for how she acted.

It was also the first time she’d seen such a big smile on Charlie’s face while they were both in the same room, since her birthday party.

And now? Sitting in front of her in the middle of a diner, like they used to do so many years ago, it’s so difficult to keep her old feelings in check. She’s moved on. (She has, she’s with Finn, she has.) But even though she might not be in love anymore doesn’t mean she doesn’t love Lexa.

 Even before, when there was still anger and resentment, she could acknowledge that. They have a child together. There’s no erasing that. A part of her will always love Lexa, those feelings will always be there, inside her, like the perennial oak tress that line her childhood street. Lexa lines her heart, her name is scribbled everywhere in its surface.

Clarke couldn’t forget her if she tried. And she’s done trying.

They can make this work. Their marriage is long gone but they can be better mothers, the mothers Charlie deserves. She told her daughter things would be different and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t try her hardest to make that happen.

Lexa smiles at her, faint, but it’s still there. 

It seems Clarke’s not the only one willing to try.

 

 

_(December 29th, 2023.)_

_“Why doesn't mommy cook no more?” Charlie asks, looking up at Clarke. “I want veggie bits.”_

_Clarke shakes her head, amused by the thought of her five year old actively asking for greens. She’s lucky._

_“You’re the most special kid,” Clarke tells her, and Charlie, who’s never been starved for compliments, positively beams at the praise. It’s not like Clarke is pulling her attention from the question. Lexa just hasn’t felt up to cooking, and Clarke is done trying to push them back to a normal routine. It didn’t help._

_“An oddity,” a small voice says from behind them, and Clarke’s arm get goosebumps like she’s in middle school. She hasn’t heard her wife sound like that in a while._

_“What does that mean?” Charlie pipes up._

_“It means you’re rare and beautiful,” Lexa tells her before Clarke can answer, and kisses Charlie’s forehead. Charlie’s smile brighten ups the whole kitchen. Lexa looks at her, and Clarke is trapped by green.  “That smells great,” Lexa says._

_Clarke tries to step down on the hope flourishing in her chest. Maybe this is the beginning of them finding their way back to each other. Maybe this is how that starts._

_Her wife offers her a tentative smile, and Clarke takes it, she holds on to it and doesn’t let go._

 

 

“We should both go to her parent-teacher conferences,” Clarke says. “Not…you know… keep switching every term.”

They couldn’t be in the same room for so long, and Clarke beats herself up for letting it affect them showing up for Charlie.

Lexa nods.

“And…dance tickets.” Lexa takes a sip of her coffee. She takes coffee with lunch, still. “We shouldn’t have Luna trying to manage splitting the tickets, we can do that ourselves.”

Clarke nods. She tries to ignore the way Lexa talks about their daughter’s dance teacher like she’s a friend, by her first name. Lexa can do what she wants. If she’s moved on- good for her. Clarke has done the same.

“Yeah,” Clarke agrees. Their conversations has been mostly this, them volunteering pieces of information where they’ve messed up and then agreeing to be better, but it’s a start.

Clarke realizes it’s the first time in over a year they’ve been alone together -as alone as they can be in a busy diner- but still. This is what trying looks like.

“And…you remember how we were going to buy her school things together?”

“Oh, yes, Charlie’s been looking forward to that.”

“I can clear my schedule,” Lexa promises.

“Me too,” Clarke is quick to add. “I mean, I can ask for someone to cover my shift. Do you think we can take her to the big mall?” Clarke asks, referring to the largest mall in the area, a good 30 minute drive in the interstate. 

Lexa nods. Clarke doesn’t realize it means a 30 minute drive with her, but she does once they leave the dinner. They might as well. 

 _Trying_.

 

 

_(December 29th, 2023.)_

_Clarke waits for things to blow up during dinner, but they never do. Lexa is pleasant though quiet, and her voice is soft, and in turn Clarke’s is even softer. Their kitchen suddenly feels like it’s bubble wrapped, the loudest thing being the noise Charlie makes when she stands up, her chair scrapping the floor._

_They don’t tell her to be more careful._

_She has seconds, and Clarke finds some ice-cream in the fridge to give her for dessert, and Charlie is all smiles where she hasn’t been, before. It hasn’t been like this in weeks, things feel almost…back to normal._

_Clarke knows how deceptive it is to believe that, to think that things will go on as usual one day -they’re not going to forget this loss, she knows that- but it still feels better, so much better than what they’ve been doing._

_Clarke meets Lexa’s eyes over Charlie’s head, while their little girl scraps the last of the ice cream from the bowl._

_They put Charlie to bed, together._

_Lexa helps her pick a nightgown, while Clarke picks up the book she’s been reading her the last few nights, and they both sit on her tiny bed, on opposite sides._

_“Snuggles?” Charlie asks tentatively, and Clarke hurts to think they’ve made her feel she can’t ask for a hug from both of them._

_She smiles, and hugs Charlie, and then feels Lexa’s arms around her, around them both. She tries not to jump at the touch, now foreign after so many nights of sleeping with a barrier between them, or Lexa picking the couch._

_“Snuggle monster,” Lexa chastises, blowing kisses on Charlie’s cheek, and Charlie giggles._

_“Snuggle monster?” Clarke repeats. “How about…a tickle monster?” And then her fingers are on Charlie’s side, and she squeaks. Lexa joins her, and Charlie laughs and laughs but she doesn’t tell them to stop. Clarke’s eyes stray to Lexa, and it’s like watching the sun come up. Her wife is laughing and her eyes are light and Clarke swears her eyes almost burn, they’ve so sorely missed that sight. She’s about to go blind._

_“Mama, no,” Charlie says finally, gasping, and they stop tickling her right away. “Wait, again?” Charlie asks once they’ve pulled their hands away, and Lexa chuckles and kisses Charlie’s forehead._

_“Tomorrow,” Lexa says, and isn’t that a thought? That by tomorrow they’ll still be like this? That this peace, this brief ceasefire in the battlefield that their home has become will continue_ until morning. Clarke wants nothing more.

_“Now, it’s time for bed,” Lexa says, and Charlie pouts, but she still crawls between her dinosaur sheets._

_Lexa brushes Charlie’s hair while Clarke reads, and their daughter is out like a light, in 5 minutes flat._

_“She must’ve been tired,” Lexa comments, and Clarke nods. Charlie played ball all afternoon, running by herself in their small backyard, and she’d been hungry and tired before dinner. A part of her is ready to tell Lexa she would know how her daughter was feeling if she’d come out of their room today, but she swallows it back down. Lexa is making an effort tonight, and so can she._

_“Yeah,” Clarke agrees._

_They’re quiet as they exit, as Lexa turns on the night-light and Clarke puts away the book, and before she knows it they’re on their room._

_Clarke almost fears being alone with Lexa these days, without Charlie there to run interference or their friends to lighten the atmosphere. She’s scared of saying the wrong thing and looking at Lexa the wrong way. She’s living on eggshells, she’s walking on a minefield._

_They haven't fought in a week. They haven't really spoken in a week either. It’s the only reason the tension hasn’t exploded and they haven’t woken their neighbors up. She hopes tonight will be different. She thinks she’s seen enough proof of that. Clarke closes the door behind her and-_

_Lexa kisses her._

_Her lips are warm on hers, pressing, insistent._

_The taste of her is familiar. Lexa tastes of home._

_Clarke sinks into it, lets her hands fall of their own volition to Lexa’s waist. She hasn’t forgotten this, could never forget._

_The warmth of Lexa’s skin against her, the taste of her lips and the feel of her fingers tugging her closer, these are all things Clarke took for granted and that her body has been aching for for far too long._

_She can’t stop, and she can’t slow down, though she wants to. She wants to make this last. She wants to savor it. She can’t stop but she has to._

_“Lexa…”_

_She pulls away slightly, pulling her bruised lips away even though it hurts._

_“Lexa, are- are you sure?” She stammers the question, her brain catching up and her body still in shock. She’s been dying slowly from their distance for so long and so much of Lexa all at once has her dizzy. She’s not even sure what she’s asking but she needs an answer. Are you sure you want to have sex? Are you sure you trust me right now? Are you sure you’re ready? She’s asking them all._

_She brushes Lexa’s hair away from her face, curls it behind her wife’s ear. The move is nothing she hasn’t done a thousand times before, but it feels so tender now, so intimate, and it hurts, that it’s equal parts foreign and known. They haven’t been so close in so long._

_“I just need to feel close to you,” Lexa tells her desperately._

_Clarke sinks._

_She lets herself be pulled into Lexa’s arms, and pulls her closer in kind. Lexa’s hands are everywhere, sneaking under her shirt and Clarke jumps from the cold before the friction warms them up. She wants to cover Lexa, bring herself around her and inside her and never leave._

_Clarke wants to push out the pain and emptiness she can see in her wife’s eyes._

_It’s not the first time they’ve been together since it happened, but it’s the closest Clarke has felt to Lexa, that it’s not tinted with pain or tears. Her chest breaks open._

_An hour goes by, then two. She only realizes when her eyes pass over the clock on the nightstand, but Lexa’s tongue quickly re-routes her attention._

_They were always good at this._

_Their bodies haven’t forgotten passion, even if it’s been far too long since Clarke has uttered it out loud. Her hands haven’t forgotten intimacy, still find the places that make Lexa gasp and groan with ease, as if they’d never stopped._

_Lexa’s slender fingers sink inside her and how could Clarke forget this? A moan is torn from her throat when Lexa starts to move, and Clarke’s hips lift off the bed to move in time with her. It’s too much and not enough, it feels like being complete and being torn apart all in the same breath. Her heart pounds in her chest, and Lexa’s name leaves her lips, over and over again, and that first time Lexa’s thumb brushes over her clit…that’s all it takes for her to fall to pieces._

_Clarke’s muscles ache with a good sort of exhaustion afterward, and it’s all she can do to tip her hips and move half on top of Lexa next._

_Bright green eyes look up at her, trusting and unguarded, and Clarke feels tears prick her eyes. She’s never felt as weak and strong as when she’s holding Lexa’s trust in her hand, and she cherishes it. She kisses her wife for the hundredth, the millionth time that night, embracing the night for what it feels like. A road back. Love._

_She touches Lexa as delicately as she’s ever touched anything, and both of them flinch when the backs of her fingers brush over Lexa’s stomach, but it doesn’t stop them._

_“Please,” Lexa begs, when Clarke’s fingers caress her inner thighs, and she gives in to her wife._

_She’s as gentle as she can, keeps it slow even when Lexa moves to hurry her up. Clarke makes love to her slow and sweet. She swallows Lexa’s moans with her own lips, kisses every corner of her face while she moves inside, drawing out more._

_She builds Lexa up steady, sees it in her eyes when her climax is just out of reach, and she pushes her over that precipice, all the while looking into her eyes._

She feels like she’s watching the universe being born -or destroyed- she’s not sure which.

_Lexa moves away afterward, and Clarke sinks her hand in her hair, keeping her in place._

_“Look at me,” Clarke begs, and the words are desperate. “ I love you.” Her throat is raw from her moans and the tears fighting to get out. “I love you so much.”_

_“…Clarke.” Tears cloud Lexa’s eyes, and Clarke gets even closer to her, so there’s nothing else in their field of vision but each other._

_Her fingers form a fist, tangled in Lexa’s hair._

_“I love you more than my own life, do you hear me?”_

_Lexa swallows, then nods._

_Clarke could be gentler, but all she cares about is for the message to get through. Clarke loves her more than anything, her and Charlie are the reason she wakes up every morning. Nothing else matters to Clarke but this, her family. And as long as Lexa is beside her, Clarke can do anything. She can breathe through the pain and work herself to the bone and accept cold shoulders and empty silences. Because as long as Lexa is there, as long as they’re together, it doesn’t matter. She’ll forgive and forget and things will go back to normal._

_But Lexa doesn’t remain there. Thing don’t go back to normal._

_And Clarke couldn’t have known that night would be their last time._

 

 

_“And what else did you do?”_

Clarke holds the phone to her shoulder with her head, fixing herself a sandwich in the kitchen. She’s not fond of cooking when she’s by herself, only really turns on the stove when Charlie is home, and on those rare occasions she has Finn over. (She has no desire of playing host for her boyfriend in the house she used to share with her ex-wife.)

“Mommy and I went to the museum after dance today,” Charlie says. “We saw that painting you like.”

“Oh, sweetie, you remembered?” 

Charlie didn’t quite inherit Clarke’s interest in art, and that had been a source of teasing from Lexa, before. No amount of mommy and me painting lessons in their living room had gotten Charlie to spend time with her patiently painting. Clarke’s remembering all those good times now that she’s not stuck in the bad.

“No, mommy remembered,” Charlie says. And Clarke tries not to fixate on that. “Oh and we ate pancakes for dinner yesterday.”

“That’s nice, Charlie,” she says. Where in the past she would have tried to call Lexa out on it, now she just thinks it must have been fun for Charlie, and lets it go. She starts putting everything back in the fridge. She wishes she still had lettuce somewhere, but she never got in the habit of buying too many vegetables. She’s clearly been guilty of feeding Charlie junk too, she doesn’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to pancakes and Lexa.

“Mommy says I have to go bed now,” Charlie tells her, and Clarke can just hear the sound of a TV in the background, and Lexa’s voice.

“Okay. Remember tomorrow we’re-”

“We’re buying my school things!” Charlie exclaims. Clarke thinks she actually hears her jumping. 

“Yes,” Clarke tells her, smiling. She’s missed hearing that excitement in her daughter’s voice.

“Mama, are we…it’s all of us, right?”

“Yeah, baby, it’s all of us.”

“Okay.”

Clarke’s phone buzzes in her hand, and she pulls it a way to check who’s calling. When she reads ‘Sullivan Clinic’, her stomach drops. She’d almost forgotten. She puts the phone back to her ear with slightly trembling hands.

“Charlie? I’ll see you tomorrow, baby. I love you.”

“I love you, mommy. Bye!”

Clarke takes a breath, and then takes the call.

“Hello?”

“Yes?”

“Is this miss Clarke Griffin? We’re calling from The Sullivan Breast Clinic to confirm your appointment with us this Friday.”

“Of course,” Clarke says.

“We also need to provide you with some instructions for the day before the biopsy, so you can be ready.”

“Of course,” she repeats, but she feels anything but.

Clarke ends up putting her untouched sandwich back in the fridge.

 

 

( _January 7th, 2024.)_

_The house is quiet when she walks in. So quiet that if it wasn’t for her car outside, she’d think Lexa wasn’t here at all. Then again, these days Lexa goes running without ever telling Clarke she’s leaving the house, so she might not even be. She thought their night together was a breakthrough, but it’s done nothing but break Clarke. She got a taste of what they used to be, but now they’re still as fractured as ever._

_She finds Lexa in the kitchen, tumbler of scotch in front of her, and that answers her question._

_“What are you doing here?” Clarke asks, and her voice is much more poisonous than she wants it to be. Lexa breaks her heart when she gets like this, but that doesn’t abate Clarke’s anger. Pain and rage have found ways to live in her chest at the same time, often, directed at the same woman. Her own wife._

_Lexa looks up, and her eyes aren’t red-rimmed like Clarke expected. She looks bored. All half-lidded eyes and a frustratingly empty stare. Clarke can deal with an angry Lexa. She can deal with a heartbroken Lexa. But this…this numbness, this distance? She can’t._

_“In my kitchen?” Lexa asks, and she sounds bitter. Lexa told her a few days ago that every question from her felt like a recrimination, like Lexa couldn’t do anything right, and Clarke didn’t think that was right. Except for this one moment._

_“No, here, in the house. I’ve been taking more hours so I could have this afternoon off, I told you that,” Clarke says, and Lexa looks up at that, surprised. It dawns on Clarke that Lexa didn’t even remember. “It was Charlie’s dance rehearsal,” Clarke tells her._

_“Her presentation is on Sunday, I have that on my schedule. We’re picking up your mom-”_

_“Today was her rehearsal,” Clarke repeats. “We were supposed to go and then leave her with Lincoln and Octavia, and we were supposed to go to dinner.” Clarke’s been clutching at every single opportunity for them to go back to normal. When she asked Lexa and she accepted, she felt it was a step in the right direction. She thought they’d get to talk. She’d taken shift after shift to make time for her, for them. “I made the reservations three weeks ago, I told you-”_

_“I didn’t know.” Lexa says, still unbearably blank._

_“Lexa-”_

_“I forgot!” Lexa exclaims. “I forgot, okay? I’ll tell Charlie I’m sorry.”_

_“She’s at O’s.”_

_“When she gets back then.”_

_Lexa’s fingers go back to the half-empty glass in front of her and something dark and bitter an painful takes hold of Clarke’s throat and squeezes._

_“And me? Are you telling me anything? Or are you just going to take a shower and go to bed?”_

_“What do you want from me, Clarke?” Lexa asks, her hand draggin over her face._

_“I want my wife,” Clarke says, disgusted at her own voice for breaking but relishing in it when Lexa flinches. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”_

_Lexa is curled up on her side when she gets into bed, far and away from Clarke, she answers with monosyllables when Clarke tries to make conversation in the mornings, and when she’s not working, on those very few hours she’s at home on the weekends, she goes running, like she can’t bear to be around Clarke. And Clarke is so, so tired._

_“The three of us had breakfast this morning,” Lexa says._

_“Except you didn’t talk to me!” Clarke’s voice resonates on the kitchen’s walls, bounces around on their empty home, and once the words are out there they’re so satisfying Clarke can’t reign herself back in. “You stayed on your cell phone the whole damn time and then you left for work and you-”_

_“It hurts, Clarke!”_

_“I know! You don’t think I know?! I know it hurts, Lexa, but I’m right here- We can get through this together. We can do anything together, okay baby?” She hasn’t called her that in weeks, and Lexa looks up at Clarke, eyes finally wet, finally showing her some sort of recognition. “I know it hurts, Lex. But you’re not grieving. You’re closing yourself off.”_

_Lexa hangs her head at that, and Clarke takes a seat at the breakfast island next to her._

_“Please, just talk to me.” In a surge of bravery she covers Lexa’s hand with her own on the marble counter top, and she tries not to let it sting when Lexa’s whole body recoils. “I’m…I’m right here, I just-” A sob leaves her throat, and Clarke reigns herself in. She breathes slow, gets herself under control. There is no place for tears in this house anymore. “I need you to talk to me, Lexa. Okay? I need you to look at me, and talk to me. Just tell me…tell me it’s going to be fine.”_

_Lexa says nothing._

_Clarke let’s go of her hand._

_“You’re going to let our marriage go down the drain because you can’t move on from what happened!”_

_It’s what’s been trying to claw it’s way out of her throat for months, and she can’t keep inside anymore. It’s turned her insides raw._

_“You don’t know what it’s been like!” Lexa gets up, her chair dragging across the floor. “You keep talking about going back to normal and getting over things and you want us to act like nothing has happened but we can’t!”_

_“That’s not-”_

_“It is! You think it’s so easy and it’s not! You weren’t there, it wasn’t your body that failed. You can’t fucking talk to me about getting through things when you don’t know what it was like. You can’t know.”_

_“And that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Clarke asks finally, breathless. “I don't know what you’re feeling, and I can’t, and it’s killing you.”_

_It’s killing_ _**us** _ _, she doesn’t say._

_Lexa’s steely green eyes remain trained on hers, filled with a fury Clarke has never known before. Anger and pain can make Clarke cruel, she’s always known this, but she’s never known just how much._

_“Your problem is with me, isn’t it? And it’s not because I missed that call -which I will regret for the rest of my life, and it’s not because I handled things wrong…”_

_She takes a step closer._

_“You hate me because my body did what yours couldn’t.”_

_“Go_ fuck _yourself.”_

 

 

“Mama!” 

Clarke kneels down to catch Charlie, who throws herself in her arms. She groans when Charlie slams against her chest, and then quickly tries to hide her grimace. She picks her daughter up. Lexa wears a sympathetic expression on her face -maybe Clarke wasn’t as good as hiding it as she thought.

But Lexa knows nothing, not yet.  If this worked -if they were able to keep working together and being civil- then maybe Clarke wouldn’t have to face this, whatever it ended being, by herself. She needs Lexa’s help with Charlie, she can fully accept that now.

“Let’s go?” Lexa frames it as a question, nodding towards her car, and Clarke nods. They’d come to pick her up, as they’d decided over text that bringing one car would be better, and Lexa would drop them both off at the house after they were done.

It’s better this way, too. Her chest still burns after that small hit, and she doesn’t think she could drive.

“Let’s go,” Clarke confirms, and follows after Lexa.

The drive is quiet -well, not exactly. It’s quiet in the way of arguments or disagreements, which used to permeate the very air back when they were still married. Now, there’s only Charlie’s voice happily chattering away about anything that comes to her mind.

She’s aware it’s the first time she’s been in a car with Lexa since before they split. It’s an odd thing to focus on, but she hasn’t seen Lexa drive in over a year. She hasn’t seen the particular set of her brow when she’s switching gears, because she’s always insisted driving stick is better. She hasn’t sat next to her like this, with their daughter in the back seat, in ages. It’s like an out of body experience, almost. 

Like she’s somehow back before everything happened, and they’re still happy, still together, still hopeful. 

When she remembers the biopsy she’s scheduled for in a few days, that she’s going through alone, she’s acutely aware they’re not.

The mall is not packed, the large crowds of hurried parents buying last minute supplies are not a thing yet, and so they easily navigate through the stores, barely speaking to each other but nodding and smiling and agreeing with anything Charlie wants. (Within reason, Lexa tells Charlie beside her. Clarke can’t help but mention how they already have 5 different pencil cases. Lexa blushes, or maybe it’s a trick of the lightning. Either way, it’s okay. This is the one instance they can agree on being equally weak.)

They’re tentative but it’s good, it feels good.

An hour goes by before they realize, and then two. Clarke holds the letter the school sent in her hands, and she’s crossed out more than half of it. (Clarke wants to roll her eyes at the heavy-duty paper the private school uses for everything, wants to call it obnoxious, but she and Lexa are not quite there yet.)

Clarke looks at her watch.

Lexa looks at her, and Clarke nods.

“It’s getting late, Char,” Lexa says, and Charlie stops in her tracks.

“But I’m still missing the pens,” Charlie saids, pouting in a way that is entirely genuine, and also entirely likely to get them to stay another hour.

“We can go another day,” Clarke promises. She still has to make a run to the supermarket, she remembers, and make dinner for Charlie. 

“All of us?” Charlie asks.

Clarke looks at Lexa.

“Of course,” Lexa says. “I’m free on friday, do you-”

“I actually -I have a surgery on friday,” she says. She wants to smile grimly when she realizes it’s not a lie. A biopsy is an invasive procedure, and she does have one scheduled. She’s just going to be on the other side of the knife this time -or needle, as the case may be.

“Mommy, please,” Charlie begs.

“Saturday?” Lexa offers

“I can ask someone to cover my shift, sure.” Clarke only hopes she won’t be in too much pain.

“Okay, good.” Lexa turns to Charlie. “You got all your notebooks?”

“Yeah, but I’m missing the pens. With smell. River had some.”

“I can-”

“I can try to look for those after work,” Clarke says. She didn’t mean to interrupt Lexa.

“I was gonna say the same thing,” Lexa says.

“I’ll…text you. If I find them before Saturday?” She offers. Lexa nods.

It seems almost ridiculous to her how they’re getting along and working together over a set of pens, but when she looks down and sees how big Charlie is smiling, how happy she looks looking up at them -Clarke knows it’s important, what they’re doing.

Together.

 

 

_(January 9th, 2024.)_

_“I’m alone. In my own house. In my own bed, with my wife. I’m alone! You don’t talk to me, you barely even look at me. It’s been months. I’m fucking exhausted, Lexa.”_

_The words come tumbling out, unbidden. She’s tried to keep them inside for so long._

_“Then go out there and find someone!” Lexa yells, green eyes smoldering. Clarke feels as though she’s been punched straight in the middle of her chest. “If you’re so fucking lonely Clarke, the door is right there-”_

_Her hand burns all of the sudden, and only the sting in her palms lets her know she’s slammed it against the wall next to Lexa’s head._

_“How_ _**dare** _ _you.”_

_It kills her, but in that second Clarke hates Lexa._

 

 

“Deep breath.”

Clarke has always hated injections.

Even now, as a grown woman, it’s hard to keep still when she knows what’s coming. She flinches at the sudden cold the alcohol-drenched cotton leaves behind.

“Here we go.”

Clarke closes her eyes as she feels the needle pierce her skin. She swears she can feel the anesthesia flowing through her flesh, feels the burn of it as the doctor presses down on the plunger.

And then the needle is gone, but the pain doesn’t leave.

“Tell me when it’s numb, all right Clarke?” The woman touches her shoulder softly, and offers her a sympathetic smile. At least Clarke can’t complain about bedside manner.

She looks down at herself. She’s a little cold from the hospital gown she’s wearing. She frowns slightly at the blue paper sheet draped over the top of her body. It’s a little strange, to have part of her breast exposed trough a single hole in it, but she’s not embarrassed. Breastfeeding Charlie in public gave her a confidence she hadn’t ever felt in regards to that.

Little by little, she notices the pain of the injection fade away into nothing as the anesthesia does its work. Soon enough she can barely feel half of her chest.

“It’s numb,” she tells the doctor.

“Everything asleep?”

Clarke nods.

“All right. You won’t feel most of it,” the doctor tells her. “The needle is far scarier to look at than what it feels like.”

Clarke doesn’t answer. How would she know that? Plus, she doesn’t like being coddled. She’s a doctor, too.

“I’ve been where you are,” the doctor tells her, and Clarke grimaces to her insides. So she does know. “It’s going to go all right. I’m going to make a small incision with a scalpel, okay Clarke? I’m sure your familiar with this part.”

“I’m usually on the other side, though,” she says.

“Of course. Here we go.”

Clarke looks away, and apart from a little pressure -she thinks she feels some pressure, at least- there’s no pain. “All done.”

Clarke’s oddly not bothered by the sight of her own blood. Strangely all she can think about is how Octavia had joked, back when Charlie was a baby, that if they pricked Clarke’s boobs they would burst like balloons. Lexa had wrapped her arm around Clarke’s shoulders and told Octavia to stop fantasizing about her wife. 

“Clarke, I’m going to begin,” the doctor lets her know, and picks up the transducer of the ultrasound machine.

Clarke feels unbearably lonely.

She spent the past two days hugging Charlie more often, a way for her to gather strength for today. It’s not the test, it’s not the pain. She’s terrified of what the results might hold.

The doctor presses the tool to her breast with one hand, while the other holds the needle. She can’t look away this time.

She sees the long, hollow needle enter her breast through the incision the doctor made, and there’s no pain, only the strange experience of being cut and not feel it. The deeper the needle goes the more she begins to feel pressure, until the doctor -guided by the ultrasound- finds what she wants. 

It goes fast after that. She sees the needle move quickly -the doctor in Clarke knows it’s collecting samples of tissue. It’s like an out of body experience, watching that needle. Clarke doesn’t know she got her. The doctor finally removes the needle and proceeds to stop the small bleeding.

A single dressing covering the site of the wound later, and Clarke’s free to go home.

 

 

She calls Charlie when she gets home, and she’s happy to hear her baby is enjoying her long weekend with Lexa.

With the anesthesia fading the site of the wound has begun to throb, and Clarke knows she wouldn’t be able to mother a 7-year-old through this. If she and Lexa- no. She’s been done with asking herself the what ifs a long time ago. It’s just the pain making her woozy now, making her weak. She takes her pain medication.

It doesn’t matter, anyways.

Charlie is with Lexa, regardless of whether they’re together or not. Her daughter is well taken care of and Clarke has a day to recover. She lays down gingerly on her bed. 

(If she and Lexa were still together, Lexa would have held her hand through the procedure, Lexa would have made her dinner and fussed over her and brought her tea to bed, if, if, if. If the miscarriage hadn’t happened their two children would be making her ‘mommy get better’ drawings in the living room while her wife shared the burden of her worries. Clarke wouldn’t be alone dealing, waiting for the doctor to tell her if she has or not fucking cancer. 

If she and Lexa had never divorced, Clarke wouldn’t be alone and scared and miserable in her too-large bed in her empty home, and carrying everything by herself, in secret.)

It’s the last thing she thinks about, even if she doesn’t mean to, before she falls into a fitful sleep.

 

 

( _August 1st, 2018.)_

_“I have a muffin top,” Clarke says, looking in the mirror. Her old jeans are still tight, though she can at least pull them up and button them now. Except for this. She holds her hands over the overflowing stomach over the hem of the jeans. “I have muffing top,” she repeats, turning on her side._

_The sight is even worse._

_“It’s a delicious muffin,” Lexa supplies, sitting down in their bed._

_“Lexa, stop.”_

_Clark’s not in the mood to be coddled, doesn’t want to hear Lexa call her beautiful or perfect when she’s literally staring at herself in the mirror and she’s…fat._

_“Come here,” Lexa pleads, and Clarke rolls her eyes but walks to her anyways. She could never say no to that voice._

_“Baby, you had a baby,” Lexa says, and Clarke huffs and looks away. Lexa’s hand is on her chin then. “Clarke.” Lexa’s smiles is sweet and understanding and it inexplicably makes her want to weep. Fucking hormones, still? “You made an actual human,” Lexa tells her. “And it was barely two months ago. Your body is fine. It doesn’t look the same, so what? You’re beautiful.”_

_Lexa’s hands are on her non-existent waist then, and Clarke resists the urge to step away._

_“I have stretch marks,” she tells Lexa._

_Her wife kisses the middle of her stomach._

_“Because you grew our daughter in there,” Lexa replies._

_“I have a muffin top,” Clarke says, again._

_Lexa kisses the skin right over the too-tight garment, and gently unbuttons the jeans. It’s hopeless to suck in her stomach. Lexa nips at it._

“And like I said, it’s a delicious muffin,” Lexa says. “Though I know of another one.” 

_Her hand slips lower, and Clarke squeaks._

_“Oh my God, Lexa!”_

_For the first time that day, Clarke laughs._

 

 

The buzzing wakes her up. 

Clarke sits up -or tries to- when a flash of fire takes her breath away. She remembers about the wound a second to late, and she lays back down, reaches for her phone, the source of the buzzing sound, with her left hand. 

“Um, hello?” Her voice is croaky, dry, and she doesn’t know if it’s a result of the pain meds.

“Hi, Clarke? Are you okay?”

“Mom.” Shit. She sits up, carefully now. “Yeah, I was just…I was asleep. Everything okay?”

“Yes, I was just calling to see how you are and to ask if you wanted to come over for dinner?” Her mom asks. “Marcus and I made lasagna.”

“You mean Kane made lasagna,” Clarke says. Her mom laughs. At least one of them is happy, Clarke guesses. Her mom deserves it.

“Yes, well. Should we set another place at the table?” Her mom asks. “We haven’t had dinner in ages, and there’s more than enough for three people.”

So she didn’t invite Lexa like that one disaster a few months after they split up. Good to know it’s just them. Though that might make things even harder, her mom can read her too well. 

Her mom is also guilting her into dinner, and Clarke knows she can’t say no.

“Of course, mom. I’ll be there.”

“Wonderful, I’ll tell Marcus. I’ll see you at 7, baby. I love you.”

“Me too.”

Clarke closes the call, and starts searching for the thickest shirt she can find.

 

 

( _February 18th, 2025.)_

_It comes back to her in flashes._

_It always does._

_It’s been a while since she drank so much, years. Since college, more likely. She’s certainly never thrown up in the morning since she was in med-school. Raven sounds apologetic over the phone, but she tells Clarke at least she didn’t do anything stupid._

_Except. It begins to come back to her._

_Raven going to the bathroom._

_A guy hitting on her and she turning him down._

_Her cell phone._

_Clarke hadn’t had reasons to check her sent calls the past two days, but in that moment she rushes to her phone and opens them, dreading what she might find. It’s there. A call to Lexa, at 2:14 am._

_It all comes crashing down on her. Once the proof is in front of her her brain manages to scrounge up the memories, drag them out of the fiery trashcan in the back of her head where she’s always thrown all her terrible ideas._

_“I love you, how did we get here?”_

_She actually called Lexa. She called her ex-wife a year -a year to the fucking day- after she moved out and told her that. She’s so fucking stupid. She deserved that hangover and worse._

_The worst part is, she was doing okay. She’d convinced herself that she was finally, finally moving on. She’d done her crying in the days after, and she’d painted, and she’d moved on. Her marriage was over. She didn’t - she wasn’t in love with Lexa anymore. She isn’t._

_It was a fluke, that call._

_She was just drunk._

_It’s a blessing that she and Lexa don’t really speak anymore about things separate from Charlie, because she doesn’t think she could stand the shame of being asked about her lapse in judgment. She didn’t mean what she said._

_(When Finn, that EMT driver she’s seen around the hospital a few times, asks her out two days later…Clarke says yes.)_

 

 

 

Clarke feels terrible showing up at her mom’s place empty-handed, but her usual gift is a bottle of red wine, and she can’t exactly mix alcohol with her medication. Her chest is still throbbing, though it’s down to a muted pain she can ignore if she doesn’t breathe in too deeply.

Her mother opens the door.

Clarke tries not to flinch when they hug her, and she manages to get her breathing just right to not be painful while she sits in the living room, answering her mom’s small talk.

“And how have things been?” Her mom asks.

Clarke almost rolls her eyes.

She recognizes the words as code for ‘How are you and Lexa?’. Her mom is upfront when asking about work, or her friends, or even Finn, every once in a while -almost never-. But the topic of Lexa is always approached with caution. 

Now, it’s probably the first time she has good things to tell her.

“We’re all going to buy Charlie’s school supplies tomorrow morning,” she provides.

“All of you as in…you, Charlie and Lexa?”

Clarke nods. “We went already on Monday, but there were some things we didn’t find.”

“You did?” Her mom raises her eyebrow, and Clarke is slightly surprised it’s news to her. She’s surprised she and Lexa haven’t spoken. “And how did that go?”

“Okay,” Clarke tells her, but then doesn’t want to sell them short. “Actually, we went to get lunch together, just the two of us.” Her mom’s eyebrows raise at this,a nd she’s quick to respond. “We talked a lot, we’re trying to be better at co-parenting Charlie. Communication, right?”

Her mom hums.

Clarke lets a smile show through.

“We’re…we’re really working together.”

She’s proud of it, the way they’ve started to emulate a decent relationship between divorcees. Clarke wouldn’t call it trying to be friends by a long shot (she doesn’t think that’d ever be possible for her and Lexa, not because of any hard feelings but because she doesn’t think she could ever look at Lexa and not see all their history in her eyes). But…they’re trying to be better to each other. It’s a start.

Her mom smiles faintly, and Clarke doesn’t quite recognize the expression on her face. She’s familiar with disbelief, and disappointment, and genuine happiness, but it’s none of those. Its strange, but it almost looks like pity.

 

 

_(April 2nd, 2025.)_

_Finn is sweet._

_Confident, though it shows he has to try to be. (Not like Lexa, Lexa exuded confidence with every step she walked, it was as natural as breathing.) It’s only natural she compares them, Clarke thinks, forces herself to believe. They were together over ten years. It’s been just over a year since they split up. So she’s moved on -she’s dating Finn now- but the divorce is still recent._

_She’s allowed to compare them. (She can’t help it. She does hate herself for sometimes thinking that Finn comes up short, but that part of her life is over, and she needed this. To forget. To move on.)_

_“Brought you lunch,” Finn says, waving a brown bag from what she’s hoping is her favorite food truck two blocks away. Tacos sounds amazing just about now, halfway through a 12 hour shift._

_“A sloppy joe,” Finn says when he’s close enough, and Clarke tries not to let any disappointment show. “We stopped on our way back from the Sacred Heart Clinic and I thought I’d bring you something.”_

_“Thank you,” she says, honest, and takes the bag from his hands. “Wait, you stopped in the ambulance?”_

_“Food emergency,” he jokes, and leaned forward to peck her goodbye. His lips are cool, and after 2 months of this, no longer foreign to Clarke._

_“Mommy?”_

_She freezes, jumps back as though she’s been shocked with electricity. Finn’s eyes are very wide, too, but he gives her a smile._

_“Oh, oh,” he mumbles._

_“Charlie, come here!” She hears Raven’s voice, and finally gets the courage to turn back. It’s just soon enough for her daughter to barrel into her._

_“Hey, monkey,” she says, and looks back at Raven. Her friend sports the guiltiest expression Clarke has ever seen. She’s painfully aware of Finn next to her, switching his weight from one foot to another with nerves, and she’s -just for a second- irrationally mad that he stayed instead of leaving._

_She wasn’t ready. She wanted to keep them apart._

_“You ran from Rae, huh?” Clarke asks, but Charlie is not looking at her._

_“Who are you?” Charlie asks, with a voice she’s inherited from Lexa. God, she sounds like her ex-wife in a courtroom._

_“I- um.” Finn looks towards her for guidance, and Clarke is thankful. She nods, giving him permission. “I’m Finn, I’m a friend of your mom’s.” He offers his hand to Charlie, and she shakes it._

_“Finn drives an ambulance, sweetie,” she adds, and Charlie looks up, seemingly uninterested._

_“I should -I should keep going,” Finn says. “Clarke.”_

_She nods, and he doesn’t risk giving her even a kiss on the cheek goodbye. Raven arrives then, her dog Benny in tow, and Clarke -Clarke’s not mad at her. But she’s dreading Charlie’s questions now, for the first time in her life._

 

 

She shakes the water from hands.

She’s thankful her mom is in the kitchen, because even though she’s a grown woman, Clarke is sure her mom would chastise her and tell her to use a towel. Her dad used to tell her she shook water off like a puppy, and when she was little he’d use to throw water at her mom to get her to laugh and ‘shake it off’ too.

Clarke walks trough the living room. It’s easier to think about him and not hurt over it in this house, so different from the one she grew up on. 

“You don't seem happy, Abs.”

Clarke stops. She doesn’t want to intrude, but Kane’s words -just louf enough for her to hear, drifting from the kitchen- sound worrying. If there’s something wrong with her mom-

“What happens when Lexa leaves?” Her mom says. Clarke’s breath stops. “Charlie is watching them work together and be civil and then what?”

Clarke steps inside the kitchen, and her mom jumps when she turns around.

“What are you talking about?” she asks, trying hard not to become alarmed.

“Clarke! I thought-”

“Mom…What’s that about Lexa leaving?”

 

 

_(April 2nd, 2025.)_

_“Why did you kiss him?” Charlie looks upset, and it kills Clarke. There's a certain part of her, deep inside, that wants to die when her daugther cries and she's the one that caused it._

_“Well…he’s a friend of mommy’s.” She doesn't want to lie, but how can she spell out the truth? Turns out, she doesn't need to._

_“He's your boyfriend?, isn't he?”_

_Clarke wants the ground to swallow her.  This is not what she wanted, she wanted to keep her daughter and her boyfriend apart, she'd never willingly introduce anyone to Charlie unless she was sure they'd be sticking around...but that's shot to hell now. Clarke has to go with it now._

 

 

She drives just below the speed limit, and her brain is too scrambled up for her to think about where she’s going, and what she’s going to say when she gets there. 

All she knows is that her chest hurts and she’s terrified and so familiar with the feeling growing in her chest, Clarke welcomes it like an old friend. 

It was ridiculous, that they thought they could be friends and take care of Charlie and be civil with each other. It was a fucking joke.

And what game was Lexa playing? Making her believe that? When she knew she wasn’t going to be around much longer. When she knew she was going to leave and let Clarke deal with the fallout.

Clarke parks in front of the building, and the guy downstairs lets her up because he’s familiar with her. 

Lexa answers the door after the second knock.

“Clarke? Is everything okay?”

Lexa has the gall to look alarmed. Clarke doesn’t stop for a minute to think about how she looks.

“What’s that about Philadelphia?”

Lexa’s eyes widen, and that seals it for Clarke.

“Did Abby tell you? She had no right-”

“You’re moving?! What the fuck, Lexa?”

“You’re going to wake Charlie,” Lexa says, and closes the door to her apartment behind her. She walks towards a set of stairs, and Clarke follows after her.

It’s cold outside. The rooftop of the building is deserted, and Clarke feels almost surreal standing there, facing Lexa, once more, once again. 

“Why am I not surprised?” She says. “You run. It’s what you do.”

Lexa looks hurt for a moment -like Clarke’s punch reached it’s target, like her words had the desired effect. It’s so easy to slip back into old roles. So simple to navigate the battlefield of conversations with Lexa, to analyze which words will do the most damage, which accusations will sink deeper into soft spots. 

“Back then…I was grieving.”

“So was I!” Clarke retorts. It’s what she never understood, why she was angry at her mother for taking Lexa’s side for so long, why she felt so fucking abandoned. She realizes with a start that’s exactly what she’s feeling now. 

“That’s not what this is about,” Lexa says, looking away.

“You can’t leave,” Clarke says ardently.

 _You can’t leave me alone_. The thought leaves her breathless. She hasn’t been with Lexa, truly with Lexa, in years. Since before the miscarriage and the fights and how it all unfolded.  But now, with her throat on fire from tears she won’t let go off and her chest hurting from things she’s too afraid to name, she’s just so fucking terrified.  She doesn't want to be alone.

How did her life get to this point?

“I can’t be here,” Lexa says.

“You can’t just leave,” Clarke says. 

“Even if I left I’d still see Charlie half of the time,” Lexa tells her, and -her daughter. It’s true. Clarke’s not what’s important here. 

“You’d still be leaving,” she insists. “I would never-”

“You left long ago, Clarke,” Lexa tells her. “You slammed the divorce papers in front of me that night-”

“You left first!” She yells, and the night sky swallows her words. “Or did you forget how you told me you needed ‘some time alone’?” The words drip with mockery. She can be cruel, sometimes. She knows this.

“I needed time! I didn't need for you to give up on me!” Lexa slams her hand on her chest, and the sound startles Clarke into looking into her eyes. Her ex-wife takes a deep breath. “This…wouldn’t change anything,” Lexa says. “You barely talk to me when I get Charlie as it is. So what’s changed? Why do you suddenly think what we’ve been doing here is anything akin to teamwork? What would be different if I left?!”

“We…we were trying.”

“You…” Lexa carries on as though she’d never spoken. “You’ve been punishing me since I moved out-”

“Because I never wanted you to! I wanted us to work through things together! And you left. When I thought there was something we could save still, you left.” She’s never said the words out loud, not like this, and it’s liberating. “So you can’t blame me for giving you those papers, not when you left, not when you signed- Because you did sign. Maybe I _have_ been punishing you for that.”

She speaks without thinking, but realizes it’s true. 

“How can you blame me for saying yes to something you said you wanted?” Lexa asks, and then there are tears in her green eyes. “For giving you the last thing I could even if it broke my heart?”

“By then it was like you had no heart left to break,” Clarke says, and hates the tears in her own voice. “I just wanted my wife back.”

Lexa steels herself, Clarke can see it happen.

“I’m not your wife anymore,” she says.

“I know that.”

“And it’s not your concern if I leave-”

“It is. Because even when you walked out on me you didn’t walk out on our daughter.” Clarke wipes her cheeks from treacherous tears. “You don’t get to do that.”

“I would never,” Lexa spits out. “And if you think otherwise I don’t know who I was married to.”

The old rusted door bangs on its frame when Lexa walks back inside, leaving Clarke in the company of only the night sky.

 

 

_(February 16th, 2024.)_

_“I just…I need some time.”_

_Clarke hears the words like she’s underwater, far away and muted. It’s fitting, she thinks. After all, she’s gotten used to feeling like she’s drowning, grown used to the taste of salt on her throat from tears instead of sea water._

_They haven’t taken a vacation in centuries. Clarke doesn’t remember the last time she saw the sun._

_“What do you mean with ‘some time’ Lexa?” Clarke’s throat hurts._

_“Clarke, I just…this isn’t working.”_

_She swallows, but the knot in her windpipe doesn’t go down. It’s lodged there, along with all the pleas for Lexa to think about what she’s saying, to reconsider, that she won’t let tumble out._

_“You mean ‘us’.”_

_“No!” Lexa exclaims. “I mean…this. I can’t…I can’t sleep well, and I can barely be home and I just. I need some time away. To process. This isn’t healthy for Charlie.”_

_“And you think her mothers splitting up is gonna help her?” She asks, tears choking her already. She hates feeling like this._

_“Clarke, no. God, no. This isn’t…it’s not going to be forever.” Lexa looks as though she’s going to touch her arm, but reconsiders and remains in place. Clarke’s thankful, she doesn’t think her wife’s touch would do anything but burn. “I just need to be myself and think and breathe for a little while,” Lexa insists. “So I can get over this.”_

_Clarke breathes._

_“If you need help-”_

_“I know what I need. I just…I need time.”_

_Clarke covers her forehead with her hand, drags it down her face to wipe away sweat and tears. She’s exhausted. She remembers every fight, every scream, every instance of Charlie crying. She thought about it, in her worst moments she did, but she wouldn’t have ever said it out loud. Deep down she believed they’d get through this, that it would be a rough patch, a painful chapter in their story. But Lexa wants to burn the fucking book._

_She can’t swallow her words. So Clarke swallows her pride instead._

_“Don’t go,” she says. “Lexa, we have to stick together.”_

_She looks up at her wife, and she feels helpless, because she can see in the set of her jaw and the emotion shining in her watery green eyes, that she’s made her choice already. Nothing Clarke says will change her mind._

_“How we’ve been trying to get pass this isn’t working;” Lexa says. And Clarke things they’ll never get through it if Lexa can’t eve say the words out loud. “It’s not working for me, I need to…I need to process, by myself.” Lexa drags her fingers through her greasy hair, paces across the room. She turns toward Clarke. “I can’t breathe! I can’t keep doing this, getting home and fighting, and all in front of Charlie…”_

_“So. Time? Is that it?”_

_Lexa nods, and Clarke turns away._

_She knows her wife. She knows that sometimes when things get hard she retreats, pulls away from everyone -even Clarke. But they’re married. And this is killing Clarke too. It was their baby, they should deal with it together._

_But it’s not what Lexa wants. Her wife is choosing to walk away._

_Clarke swallows her tears. Lets a veneer of calmness fall over her face for the time being. She’s going to process later, but for now all she can manage to do is nod._

_“Fine.”_

_And it's only one word, and it's far from the worst exchanged between them but this- not the fights or the miscarriage, no, this-  is the moment Clarke will always consider as the beginning of the end._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think now that the story is moving forward. :)


	8. Chapter 8

 

_“I’m not your wife anymore.”_

_“I know that.”_

_“And it’s not your concern if I leave-”_

_“It is. Because even when you walked out on me you didn’t walk out on our daughter. You don’t get to do that.”_

_“I would never. And if you think otherwise I don’t know who I was married to.”_

 

 

Lexa lets the door slam closed, the heavy metal banging out a cacophony of sound that Lexa finds fucking satisfying. She’s angry.

She’s angry in a way she hasn’t been in so long, because it’s only Clarke who can get it out of her. How could she accuse her of leaving Charlie? Only Clarke. Always fucking Clarke.

She takes a deep breath with her hand on her apartment door’s handle. She doesn’t want to make too much noise in case it wakes Charlie, doesn’t want to look upset in case her daughter is already awake. But she definitely doesn’t want to still be in the hallway when Clarke comes down.

She steps inside.

“Mommy, where were you?”

Lexa stops in her tracks as her daughter stands in the middle of the living room, blanket in hand and a fist rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Lexa begs whatever God is listening that her daughter didn’t hear the fight she’s still reeling from.

“I was …I was just talking to someone, baby,” she says, and picks Charlie up with a grunt, settling her on her hip.

“With who?” Charlie inquires. “Costa?”

“No, not her. And it’s Costia, baby.”

“Oh. Her name is weird.”

Lexa tries -and fails- not to chuckle. Even now, her daughter can always get a smile out of her. 

“I guess it is. But we don’t say-”

“We don’t say weird, we say special,” Charlie recites. “Because being different is good.”

“That’s my girl,” Lexa says, dropping a kiss to her forehead. She’s glad her neighbor is Charlie’s first guess at who she was talking to. And she’s even more thankful when Charlie seems to get distracted enough not to realize she didn’t get an actual answer.

They’d been doing so well. The last thing she needs is for Charlie to find them fighting. 

The last thing she wants is for Charlie to know about her new job (if she’s taking it…she is taking it, isn’t she?) in those circumstances.

She rubs Charlie’s back.

“Why did you wake up?”

“I don’t know…” Charlie says, and rests her head back down on Lexa’s shoulder.

“That’s all right,” Lexa says, breathing out with relief. “But let’s go to bed now, okay?”

Charlie nods against her shoulder.

“Can I sleep with you?”

“Of course, monkey.”

She lays Charlie between the pillows, tickles her feet while she sleepily giggles and kicks at her. The twin bed is just big enough to hold the both of them cuddled up, and Lexa hugs her close.

“Night mommy,” Charlie says quietly, burrowing further under the covers.

Lexa sighs, the last of the anger seeping out of her. She can’t be angry when she’s holding her daughter.

“Good night,” she tells Charlie, but she doesn’t try to sleep herself.

She can’t.

How did Clarke find out? Did Abby- Abby was the only who knew, she must have been the one to tell her. Lexa feels betrayal crawl up her throat, and sinks her nose in Charlie’s hair to keep the horrible feeling at bay.

She trusted Abby. Abby is the closest thing she has to a mother. She thought Abby was going to be there for her.

But she told Clarke -she must have, though Lexa isn’t sure of anything right now- and she’s reeling from that conversation still. (So she hasn’t forgotten the habit of renaming screaming matches into conversations. Good to know.) She has to talk to Abby. To Clarke, too. And-

Shit. They were supposed to buy the rest of Charlie’s school supplies in the morning, together. Lexa knows that's not happening anymore. Another dissapointment for Charlie. Her head begins to hurt. 

But Lexa can’t deal with any of it now, in the middle of the night. So she kisses Charlie’s head, and closes her eyes.

Listening to the soft, gentle breaths of her sleeping child is the only that allows her to fall asleep.

 

 

( _February 26th, 2024.)_

_It was easier to breathe the second she stepped out of the house, and Lexa hates herself for it._

_Then again, she hates herself for a lot of things these days._

_It’s her second day away from Clarke and Charlie and the band around her lungs has just begun to loosen, knowing that she can finally, safely let herself break. She couldn’t let Charlie see her like this._

_She couldn’t keep fighting with Clarke, couldn’t keep her disappointing her._

_In the long run, it’ll be better for all of them. She has to believe that._

_And then her mind conjures up images of her daughter when she left, and Lexa’s tears fall just a little faster._

_She left Charlie crying her eyes out in Clarke’s arms, and that kills her. But she’d hugged her goodbye for a solid hour, and by that point she realized she was just delaying the inevitable._

_She’d taken Charlie to the apartment (a two bedroom on the other side of the city, small but cozy, and completely, absolutely different from their home) and she’d seemed alright._

_But the following day, when Lexa actually tried to leave, she lost it._

_And now, two days and a dozen phone calls later, it doesn’t feel any easier._

_But it will._

_In a few weeks she’ll be able to breathe without feeling guilty, and she won’t have to drag herself into the shower anymore, and she’ll stop feeling like she’s made of brittle, delicate glass._

_Lexa’s been here before, when her mother died, and when her father died, and after Anya…she’s done this already._

_She needs to get her shit together, and she’s doing it. This is how it happens._

_She hates that she had to hurt Charlie, and even through all the anger and the resentment she hates that she had to hurt Clarke, but Lexa felt like she breathed fog inside her house, and now she’s filling her lungs with oxygen for the first time in months._

_This is just temporary._

 

 

 

“Mommy. Mommy.”

She feels sudden pressure in her shoulder, and tries to turn away from it only to almost fall off the bed.  

It’s small. Sometimes, force of habit or muscle memory, whatever one may call it, gets the better of her and she thinks she’s still back home, on the king sized bed she and Clarke bought when they first moved in together. She’s not.

Lexa rubs the sleep out of her eyes.

Charlie stands in front of her, her little hands on her arm to blame for her sudden awakening.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” she says, sitting up. “Did I over sleep?”

“I didn’t wanna wake you, mommy,” Charlie says, climbing into the bed and Lexa’s lap. “But I’m hungry.”

Lexa smiles and kisses her cheek good morning. 

“Sorry. How do pancakes sound?”

Charlie grins.

“With strawberry jam?” 

“Always,” Lexa tells her.

Charlie jumps out of bed, and bounces on her feet until Lexa pads out of her room, not before grabbing her cell from the bedside table. Lexa is tired, in that way she knows her body gets after a bad night. She hasn’t felt like this in a while, but the stiffness in her extremities is something she’s all too familiar with. It seems to welcome her back with open arms. 

Her cell phone feels like it’s made of lead in her hand.

 “I’ll be there in a second, okay?” she tells Charlie. “Get the pancake mix out.”

“Okay!”

Charlie springs to the kitchen. 

Lexa walks into the bathroom in the hallway, the less used one. Charlie prefers the one in her bedroom, too, and she almost never has visitors.

She cant put things off anymore.

She finally brings the phone to life, the light blue light filling the small bathroom. She can hear Charlie singing to herself in the kitchen, though most of the spanish words from that new Disney movie elude her. She can do this.

But apparently she doesn’t need to call Abby, because her notifications blow up with her former mother in law’s name as soon as the phone is on. She has 3 missing calls from her, along with a slew of texts.

The last one, ‘call me when you see this’.

But she still doesn’t know what she’ll say. She doesn’t know how to ask Abby why she betrayed her trust, because she knows, she knows that she’s not her actual daughter while Clarke is. She doesn’t know how to recriminate her something that was Lexa’s own fault. 

She should have known to keep things to herself.

She decides to text Clarke first. The words come easy.

They might have spent the last weeks or so behaving, being civil to each other, but before that canceling plans was run of the mill.

 

_Can we cancel tomorrow?_

_I don't want her to see us arguing._

 

It’s simple. To the point. She still nearly shakes as she waits for Clarke to text back. 

 

_Ok_

 

So that’s what she’s getting. Fine.

 

_We can talk about this later._

 

Lexa waits, and then. 

 

_Seen 8:11 am_

 

“Mommy?” there’s a knock on the door suddenly, and Lexa almost jumps. “What's taking you so long? Mommy are you pooping?”

“No, I’ll be right out!” She tells Charlie. She still has to call Abby.

“Can I take the pan out?” Charlie inquires.

“No, Charlie.”

“Just take it out. Mommy?”

“One second, baby.” 

“Can I start mixing?”

Lexa puts her phone away and opens the door. She almost welcomes the delay in calling Abby. She can’t shake the betrayal off her shoulders.

“I’m here,” she tells Charlie, picking her up. “Let’s go make those pancakes.”

 

 

_(April, 2024.)_

_Lexa doesn’t make an effort to speak to a lot of people after she leaves._

_She left -and she hates the sound of that, even if it’s achingly true- because she didn’t want to talk, didn't want to focus on what happened, to event think about. That’s not how she works. She needed to escape clarke’s constant hounding and looks and expectations. She couldnt deal with the fighting anymore._

_It’s not that she doesnt love her._

_Its just that she doesnt know how to let herself be loved anymore, and how to love her wife back the way she wants._

_Lexa tried, at least. She tried talking even if it made her nauseous. She tried the therapist, even if she only lasted 15 minutes. But it’s not how she works, and honestly fuck Clarke, for pushing her to this, for not giving her the space she desperately needed._

_(She’s always going in circles these days.)_

_She doesn't make an effort to speak to people, but that doesnt mean she can avoid them entirely. Still, it's better. She focuses on her work and ignores the pitiful stares of her co-workers. She never told them she…she never said anything, but they knew the moment the months passed and her body stayed the same, even thinner than usual. Nobody but Gustus made an effort to talk to her._

_And back at the apartment -she can't bring herself to think of it as home- she devotes herself to Charlie on the days she has her, and she’s just fine. No one makes much of an effort to speak to her, either, apart from awkward phone calls here and there._

_(Octavia stopped calling after a month, Raven after two. Lincoln still calls once a month, and they mostly stick to the kids. Wells calls once a week, when his boys give him time. And Abby. Abby calls every other day, like clockwork. Lexa blocked her phone number, and then felt too guilty and unblocked it after 6 hours.)_

_She doesn’t meet up with any of them too often. Conversations flows the easiest -and less painful- between her and Wells. It’s a friendship she’s glad for. Abby keeps asking to come over, and Lexa keeps saying no. Abby is too close to Clarke, too similar._

_Lexa has worked hard to get space and room to breathe, and she can’t be reminded like that. She’s still not okay yet._

_So when an afternoon, two solid months after she first moved in, her neighbor knocks on her door -all 5′11 of her, with a bright smile and something that smells delicious- Lexa is blindsided._

_Her name is Costia._

_Costia is kind and hospitable and insistent._

_She wants to ‘properly welcome Lexa to the building’ and Lexa doesn't mention how she moved in nearly two months ago._

_Lexa doesn’t seek out Costia, isn’t even that polite when they talk, but that doesn't deter the woman. A few weeks go by, and she’s the perfect neighbor. She doesn’t mind Lexa’s taciturn mood, and often lends her sugar when Lexa runs out. (Lexa learns to take her coffee black, but Charlie refuses to have corn flakes without adding sugar to the milk, so Lexa finds herself asking Costia often.)_

_Because Lexa forgets to go to the supermarket, and sometimes even shower, or count the days that go by. Those feels like a spiraling maelstrom these days._

_Costia asks her out for drinks, and she declines. She’s shocked enough at socializing with another human being, confounded enough by small talk, to put herself through anything else, anything harder than half-assed weather talk in the elevator._

_It’s a few days later, when Costia asks her out to lunch, that’s Lexa realizes the woman has been flirting with her the whole time._

_She feels stupid. She’s been living inside her own head too long, true, but also… it’s been so many years. She’s been married for so long, and there’s truly only been Clarke. Two short relationships here and there and a couple of one night stands, and then Clarke. And since then it’s always been Clarke._

_Lexa only knows Clarke’s brand of shameless flirting. Her body is only attuned to her wife’s attempts at getting her attention, even after 3 months they haven't lived together._

_Her cheeks burn._

_But more than that, her chest aches, because she can’t imagine ever being with anyone who’s not her wife, regardless of how much it hurts to think about her. She still dreams about Clarke most nights, her mind stuck in nightmares about things she’ll never have. Because images of a little baby boy, chasing Charlie around, while she and Clarke laugh…they’re a nightmare. They’re whatever God there is mocking her._

_(For the first time, Lexa wishes she was religious. Maybe then she could find some explanation for what happened, or some resilience to move past it when it feels like everything she touches dies.)_

_Costia asks her out, yet again, a few weeks later._

_Lexa says no._

_And then she explains that her wife and she are…taking a break (though with each passing day it feels more and more permanent) but they’re still married, and Lexa can’t. She doesn’t want to, either, but she’s not rude when she says it. Or she hopes she isn’t._

_And Costia apologizes, blushes underneath her dark skin, and backs off._

_She stops bringing her food, though she’s still friendly in the hallways._

_She meets Charlie one afternoon, on a switch day (when Lexa is quietly fuming because Clarke sent Charlie up to her floor in the elevator by herself, and who the fuck does that with a 5 year old?)._

_Charlie loves Costia’s hair, which that day is in a pretty afro with a few braids, and Costia promises to teach her how to braid her hair like that._

_“If that’s okay with mom,” Costia says, looking up at her, and Lexa is almost sure she’s flirting, or maybe that’s just the way she is. She can’t tell. She doesn't care. All she knows is it makes her feel uncomfortable, because she’s married, even if some days she hates her wife, and they haven't shared a bed or a home in months. Lexa hasn't taken off her ring, and she won’t._

_Lexa nods and Costia and Charlie smile._

_It never happens. She doesn’t want it to._

_It feels weird to introduce Charlie to her neighbor, to let them hang out together. Not that there’s anything wrong with Costia, but it makes things feel too real to Lexa. Settled. And they’re not, they can’t be._

_Even though she can’t imagine going back home. For fuck’s sake, she really can’t. Not yet._

_She can’t face Clarke, or the memories._

_It hurts too much. Everything. Still._

_But she also can’t imagine being here, stuck in limbo, forever.  Making a home here. She simply can’t._

_It’s been four months, and she doesn't know what comes next, but she knows it cant be this._

 

 

 

“We have to wait until they bubble, see?” she asks Charlie, pointing at the pan. The day she’ll let Charlie touch the stove is a good few years away, but she still tells her every step, if only to fill the silence. She flips the pancake, golden brown beneath. “That’s what makes them fluffy, see?”

Charlie nods, licking strawberry-jam off her lips.

“Can we save some pancakes for Mama?”

Shit.

Charlie looks up at her, waiting for her answer, and Lexa doesn’t know how to tell her that they can’t, because Clarke is not coming.

Lexa turns the stove off, and puts the last of the batter in the fridge. She’s been here before, in so many instances, and she hates it every time. She thought breakfast would distract Charlie for at least a little while, give her time to come up with an excuse. And she still has to call Abby. 

She hasn’t had one minute to herself to process yesterday’s fight with Clarke. 

And now she has to let her daughter down.

“Charlie…”

“We’re going to buy my school things, remember?”

“Charlie, baby-”

Lexa realizes the minute Charlie can tell they’re not going. Charlie’s chin starts trembling, and she grabs the collar of her pajamas with both fists. 

“We’re getting my pens, aren’t we?” Charlie asks, breathing hard. “We’re going with mama?” 

“Baby, I’m so sorry… Your mama and I just can’t this weekend-”

“Why?!”

The worst part of Lexa, the part that can be hateful and cruel, wants to tell Charlie that it’s Clarke’s fault. Especially after last night, after those accusations. Mama had a surgery, she wants to say. Mama had to go to work. It’s her fault.

But she can’t, regardless of every dark thing she’s ever felt towards Clarke.  There are lines she won’t cross.

“Things came up, we both have work to do-”

“But mommy…” Charlie’s lip wobbles.

Lexa doesn’t just feel terrible. 

She feels like someone is prying her chest open.

“Charlie, please-”

The first wail breaks her heart.

Fat tears stream down Charlie’s cheeks as her face turns ruddy with pain.

“I’m sorry,” Lexa says softly, walking around the breakfast island to her crying daughter.

“But -but you. But-” Charlie breaths harder, and Lexa’s heart clenches. She lays a hand on Charlie’s back. She knows how she can get, how crying can turn into hyperventilating. “You promised!” Charlie shrieks, her voice thick and broken.

“Oh baby, come here.” She tries to pick her up, but for the first time in months Charlie pushes her away, her legs kicking. It hurts.

“No!” Charlie wails, throwing her head back and sobbing, disconsolate. Lexa’s own throat feels tight. The last thing she’s ever wanted was hurt her daughter. “You promised we’d go!”

Lexa waits.

The strength of the cries abate, little by little, until Charlie is only weeping.

“We were supposed to go,” she tearfully whines. “All of us.”

Lexa picks her up, and this time Charlie wraps her legs around her waist and lets herself be consoled. 

“I’m sorry, Charlie.” Lexa kisses her head. We never meant to hurt you, she wants to say. But they did, didn’t they?

 

 

 

_(June 17, 2024.)_

_Charlie’s 6th birthday rolls around before Lexa realizes it._

_It’s so, so painfully different than it was last year._

_When Charlie turned 5 she and Clarke were together and she was blissfully, happily…pregnant. Just shy of four weeks along._

_(It still hurts, right behind her eyes, when she thinks about it.)_

_It’d been emotional for she and Clarke, because there was something about 5 that was different from 3 or 4. It was that precise jump to childhood. The definitive moment where they had a little girl instead of a baby or a toddler. Charlie made herself heard at 5, she was about to start school at 5, she was -even though she didn’t know it yet- going to become a big sister._

_They were happy. They spent the day at a lake, feeding ducks and playing and riding those plastic boats with the pedals. All their friends came over at night for a small party, and Charlie had gone to sleep between the both of them, a smile on her face._

_This is nothing like that._

_It’s only been 4 months since Lexa moved out, and every day it gets better, it gets a little easier to breathe, but she can’t face Clarke. It’s too soon for them to be near each other for an extended period of time._

_So Charlie gets two birthday cakes. Her actual birthday falls on one of Lexa’s days, so she goes all out. She takes Charlie and River and Well’s boys and a few of her friends from school to a trampoline park, and she spends the afternoon fishing little kids out of a foam pit. The workers at the Sky High Park sing her Happy Birthday. Charlie has a blast._

_And after driving everyone home, Lexa takes out a small birthday cake, just for the two of them, and tells Charlie to make 6 wishes. One for every year._

_“Mommy?”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“Is it okay if I only have one?”_

_And Lexa doesn’t ask her what it is, because she already knows._

 

 

 

Charlie sits in front of the TV, her eyes on some animal planet show. She laughs every time the kittens yawn or get themselves into boxes, and Lexa feels a little less terrible after the morning’s meltdown.

Charlie stopped crying after a good ten minutes. Lexa went through the long since used procedure of sitting her daughter in her lap, and changing her shirt, using it to wipe tears and snot and the saliva on her chin. It’s been a while since Charlie’s cried like that.  

The memory alone breaks Lexa’s heart, but now her daughter’s laughing and Lexa can’t put off the inevitable any longer.

Did Abby tell Clarke? She can focus on their fight last night now, on Clarke’s anger and her accusations, and it’s exactly the reason why Lexa had wanted to tell her -if there was anything to tell- on her own terms. 

Now she fears her hand has been forced.

And Abby had no right to be the one to do it.

Betrayal stings. She thinks back to every conversation she had with her, every hug and every tear she let fall, and it not only stings but it hurts. Everyone will always choose, Lexa should have remembered that. (And maybe she had it coming, she thinks. For leaving, for destroying her marriage, for trusting the woman in the first place. For losing…no.)

 Lexa knows she has to call, if only to know what happened, but she can’t do that without knowing what she’ll say. 

Her hand has been forced all right. Now she has to decide, she can’t keep putting it off.

She wants to take the job. She can be honest with herself about that.

She would have turned it down right out of the gate if she wasn’t interested, she wouldn’t have let Charlie with Clarke (and Finn) for a whole week if she didn’t want to gauge her reaction.

But Charlie was fine.

And the only one who seems unsure about possibly moving is herself.

Though she wants to.

And Charlie will be all right, like her therapist said, like she saw with her own eyes. She wants to take the opportunity and she can.

She’s…she’s going to.

The decision was made a while ago, Lexa realizes, but it’s only now that she can admit it to herself. 

And she can call Abby.

With one last look she leaves Charlie entertained in the living room, and locks herself in her own. Her former mother-in-law answers on the first ring.

“Lexa?”

“Abby.”

“It was an accident,” the other woman says right away, and the pressure in Lexa’s chest disappears. She didn’t how much she didn’t want it to be true.

“Was it?” she asks, and the tremble in her voice betrays her anger, her disappointment…her hurt.

“I was just talking about it with Marcus-”

“Why did you tell Kane?” she asks, stiffly. 

Abby’s answer is simple.

“He’s my husband.”

And Lexa knows. Lexa remembers. She used to share her every thought with Clarke. She’d never given much thought to soulmates, but how could coming home and sharing everything with the person you loved the most be anything but that? Secrets didn’t exist between them (until they did). Rules didn’t apply. She can’t berate Abby for talking to her husband, wouldn’t have asked her to keep secrets from him in any case. 

She doesn't blame Abby for telling Kane. 

She’s never been particularly close to the man, except as he is a cool sort-of-grandpa to Charlie. But she understands what being married to someone entails, still. 

She breathes out the last of her anger, and sits down on the bed.

“What happened?” she asks, touching her fingertips to her forehead.

“We were just talking, and Clarke walked in when I…when I mentioned you leaving. I’m sorry. By that point, what could I have done?”

“Kept quiet?” Lexa offers. Maybe her anger is gone, but she’s still annoyed.  

Abby surprises her.

“The result would have been the same,” Abby tells her. “I’m sorry about the way she found out, but Lexa…she’s Charlie’s mother too. Your lives…your lives are connected whether you both like it or not, and they’re always going to be. I didn’t mean for her to find out, and I understand if you’re angry at me for it, but you can’t deny she needed to know.”

“I know that,” Lexa says. “But not like this. Not before I chose to tell her.”

“I know, sweetheart. I am sorry.”

“She came over in the middle of the night-”

“I was afraid of that,” Abby says. “She’s been ignoring my calls. I’m afraid she’s angry at me too.”

It’s hard to hold on to her anger when Abby sounds the way she does.

“What if she’d woken Charlie?” Lexa demands, knowing that the words are meant not for Abby but for the woman who’d inherited her nose, the shape of her eyes. Always damned Clarke. “How could I have explained that?”

“I know,” Abby says, but even she seems at a loss of words. She sighs. “You know, Lexa, I’m finding it really hard to balance you two these days.”

That makes her stop for a second. 

“What do you mean?”

She can almost imagine the shrug in Abby’s shoulders, the kind look on her eyes that she earned through years of a relationship with Clarke. Abby didn’t like her at first. Abby loves her now. And Lexa doesn’t want to lose that.

“You’re both my kids, Lexa,” she says simply. “And you’re on opposite sides of this war that I hoped was coming to an end. And now…I don’t know. Ignore me.”

But Lexa can’t think of anything else.

“Can I talk to my granddaughter for a bit?” Abby asks. Lexa nods before realizing she can’t be seen.

 

 

 

_(Late August, 2024.)_

_The morning is less heavy._

_It’s the only way Lexa can think of describing it, when she wakes up and her limbs aren’t weighed down by invisible forces. She’s been bearing the…the miscarriage, like a weight over shoulders, and it’s been dragging her down for so long. It’s always there, on the edges of her consciousness, as soon as she wakes up._

_At least, it usually is._

_Not this morning._

_What assaults her this morning is the pure aching need to see her daughter, ask her if she slept well, make her breakfast and then supervise as she brushes her teeth. But Charlie isn’t here, in this cold apartment she rented to escape what felt like suffocation._

_Charlie is with Clarke._

_And Clarke, oh God, Clarke._

_It hurts still, the memory of every fight, every cutting word thrown in anger, she can still feel the scars, but she wants to see her, for the first time in months. 5 months, to be exact._

_She feels the way she did after her mom passed away, and she moved in with her dad. By the time her room had posters of her favorite actors on her every wall, it didn’t hurt so badly. Feels like she did when she went back to college after her dad died, the semester that followed that one._

_And with Anya…that was harder, took longer. But she was alone, and it passed._

_This has been the hardest by far for Lexa, but she needed to be alone and she was and now…now it feels like she can think about it._

_About herself and going back home and being better for Charlie._

_For Clarke._

_It’s been a long time, but it’s not over. It never was going to be. Her ring is still on her finger and she knows that Clarke hates waiting, but Lexa will thank her the rest of her life for waiting for her now._

_The morning isn’t less heavy. Lexa is._

_She’s better, and she begins to recognize that she could have been better._

_She could have taken Charlie’s advice, and just slept in another room. Just spent more time away from home, but returned every night. Something. Anything to keep from hurting her daughter._

_But Lexa was a selfish piece of shit, she can recognize that now._

_She put what she wanted above what Charlie needed -her mothers together, her home in one piece- and she’ll never forgive herself for that. She hurt Clarke (God, she’d wanted to hurt her) and she hurt their marriage, and she doesn’t know how she can begin to make amends for that._

_But watching Charlie turn a year older, the big six, in such a confusing, heartbreaking way for her…it makes Lexa see things clearly._

_She doesn’t know where to start._

_She admitted she has a problem. She needs help. (Was that only for alcoholics?) The only thing she’s been able to get drunk off in the past few months is pain. She drank, but it only reminded her of the days where she couldn’t drink, and it brought her back to step one._

_She finds a therapist._

_She can’t bear to see the same one Clarke brought them to all those months ago, but she asks for recommendations. Makes herself spit out miscarriage and loss and hopelessness over the phone, and she gets a name. Indra Forrest._

_It takes her two days but she calls. And it takes her a week, but she goes._

_It’s like pulling teeth. She feels like she’s about to jump out of her skin every second that she sits there, but she shoulders on, thinking about Charlie. Her daughter needs her to do this. Clarke…it’s a little more complicated to think about Clarke (and Indra lets her know they have a lot of unpack when it comes to her wife) but she wants to do it._

_Needs to._

_She and Clarke will have so much work to do but she knows they can do it._

_And when a few hours after her second appointment with Indra Clarke texts her asking for them to meet, her heart misses a few beats. Her stomach drops to the bottom of her feet. She can barely breathe but…for the first time in so long she wants to talk to her._

_Not only that, but Lexa is going to ask for forgiveness. She’s better. She got help. With Indra’s help she put a name to what she was a feeling, and she’s going to take the meds. She feels marginally better already, just with the talking. Like she can try again._

_Like her family can be rebuilt._

_She shows up at the coffee shop Clarke asks her to, her heart on her throat and a mouthful of promises on the edge of her lips._

_She sits down in front of Clarke. She’s as beautiful as ever, though her eyes are tired and closed off. It’s all right. Lexa will change that. Just looking at her hurts but more than that it gives her hope. She loves her. She loves Clarke so much, always, still._

_And then her eyes zone in on the papers in front of her seat._

_Acknowledgment of Service (Divorce)_

 

 

 

 

  

 

Her conversation with Abby makes her think.

She’s relieved that Abby didn’t choose Clarke over her, that she didn’t willingly divulge something Lexa wasn’t ready for Clarke to hear, but she does know Clarke had to know eventually.

Lexa is moving away. 

She’s moving and there’s so much left to do, find an apartment and get in contact with Polis and actually, physically move…it could be months until she’s out of the city. But there’s one thing that needs to happen right now.

The war has to be over for Charlie’s sake.

And Abby was right, it is a war.

Or at least, it has felt like that for so long. But Lexa’s energy is depleted, her troops are decimated. She doesn't know how much longer they can carry on with this senseless campaign until they damage their child -and themselves- irreversibly.

They're not too late. At least she hopes they’re not. (She’s been wrong before.)

She pictures Charlie crying like she did this morning every single time she and Clarke put their differences over her needs. Her having to live two separate lives, never mentioning her other mom to whoever she’s with at the moment, because they can’t hear about each other. She can’t put that weight on her little girl. Charlie deserves better.

She deserves two parents who actually co-parent. She deserves what they were trying to accomplish before Clarke untimely found out about her job offer and they fought and Lexa canceled their plans. She deserves the freaking gel pens.

And Lexa can take the first step.

She calls Clarke.

“What is it?” Clarke asks, and Lexa doesn’t know what she expected but it wasn’t for Clarke to sound…hurt.

“I know I asked you to cancel but…Charlie was really disappointed-”

“That’s on you.”

Lexa closes her eyes.

“I know. Can we go tomorrow? And I’ll take her bag, drop her off at Abby’s…so we can talk.”

It takes Clarke a minute to answer.

“Okay.” 

Clarke disconnects the call.

And Lexa is still angry, still reeling from the woman accusing her of abandoning her daughter, still upset about the words flung in anger last night…but she can’t let that stand in the way of what’s best for her daughter.

She’s waving a white flag in the middle of a battlefield.

 

 

 

(Late August _, 2024.)_

_The world comes crashing down._

_It must, because suddenly Lexa’s mouth is dry and her chest is tight and she’s feeling every moment of the last decade of her life slip through her fingers like sand, worthless._

_Lexa looks up from the papers, looks around. Clarke doesn’t meet her eyes. The coffee shop is still the same as two minutes ago. The world is not ending._

_Lexa feels like it is._

_“What…what is this?” she asks, begs Clarke for an explanation. She can barely spit out the question._

_Clarke still doesn’t meet her eyes._

_Lexa has a perfect look of her jawline, of her cheek, because her whole face is turned toward the door, away from her._

_“I’m filing for divorce,” Clarke says, her voice like steel. But Lexa can see the vein on the side of her neck, the one that always becomes prominent when they’re fighting, or when she’s lifting heavy things, or scolding Charlie. Everything difficult for Clarke._

_It gives her hope. Clarke doesn’t…Clarke can’t really want this. Lexa knows her, she knows how much Clarke can forgive. Lexa thought she hadn’t pushed too hard._

_“…Why?” Lexa asks. She wishes she could put to words every thought running through her head, but she can’t. She feels disconnected from everything. Her hands are cold, her feet numb._

_Clarke looks at her, her steely expression disappearing into a mocking one._

_“Why? Protecting our daughter, how about I start there? Do you think it’s healthy for her to live in limbo?” Clarke takes a breath before looking away -Lexa can’t draw in a single one. “I’m just taking care of the legal part of…this,” Clarke says, her tone measured._

_Lexa feels the words like a punch to the gut._

_She’d almost forgotten how Clarke can be ruthless._

_Protecting Charlie, she says._

_Lexa is dumbfounded._

She grabs the papers, half expecting her hand to burn upon touching them. 

_“I don’t…” I don’t want this, she wants to say. I’m better. I want to go back to what we were. I think we can do it. “It wasn’t supposed to be permanent,” is the only thing that makes it out._

_“Wasn’t it?” Clarke asks. “You knew what we were deciding, Lexa.”_

_But no, she didn’t. All she wanted -needed- was to get away, for a time. To be able to breathe. She never thought about legalities or divorce. She never took off her ring._

_It burns like scorching metal where it sits on her finger._

_“Charlie is used to this arrangement already,” Clarke says. Lexa shakes her head. The fog begins to clear and all she can feel is the same red hot anger that drove her to leave all those months ago. “It would be cruel to move back together and confuse her again, and when it doesn't work out-”_

_“When, not if. Is there someone else already?” She can be ruthless too._

_“For fuck’s sake, Lexa!” A few of the patrons look over to their table. Clarke lowers her voice. “I’m doing this for Charlie.”_

_Bullshit._

_“You’re doing this for yourself,” she says. “If you don’t…if you don’t want me anymore, if you don’t want us together, then say it. And leave our daughter out of this.”_

_Clarke looks up._

_Her eyes are watery, and where before that would have moved Lexa to comfort her, today it only makes her proud to be the cause. She likes that she’s not the only one hurting. And how sick is that?_

_“Fine,” Clarke says. “I think we’re better off apart.”_

_Lexa nods._

_Her eyes burn._

_“I wasn’t even supposed to hand you these myself but I wanted to see you. I…I owed you that much,” Clarke says, and then sighs. “This is what’s best for our daughter. And for- for ourselves. It’s been 6 months. This is our new normal. We’d just be making it official.”_

_Lexa drops the papers back on the table._

_She doesn’t understand how things went to shit so fucking quickly. She came here prepare -or at least she thought she was- to talk to Clarke about moving back in. About them trying to get back to where they were. She came ready to try to tell Clarke she’d had enough time away, that she’d gotten someone to talk to, that she was…ready._

_But one look at Clarke ignited the same toxic fire she felt every time they fought. She wishes she’d had the guts to spill out her guts._

_Clarke gathers her purse and stands up._

_“You have to file an answer and mail a copy to me,” she says, succinct. And right when she’s about to leave she stops, and bends down to Lexa’s level, and touches her hand -Lexa gasps._

_“I need this. We need this. I won’t resent you for leaving but just…just give us this. I’m sorry. Goodbye, Lexa.”_

_Lexa’s eyes follow her out._

 

 

 

Charlie runs from one aisle to the other, so fast that Lexa can barely keep up.

The store is pretty full, so after the third time she sees the blue flash go by she grabs her by the jacket, and then firmly grabs her hand in her own. Charlie pouts. 

“But mommy, I was looking for my pens.”

“We can look together,” Lexa tells her.

Clarke walks close behind them. That is, until Charlie reaches back and holds out her hand for Clarke to grab, which she does.

Charlie smiles.

Lexa barely looks at Clarke.

It’s awkward, like how it was at first, before. The quiet after a fight, the peace after a screaming match. They’re there together, but they’re not there with each other. They’re only connected by the child holding their hands.

Charlie notices.

Her daughter is so, so perceptive.

Before the divorce, regardless of how much Lexa might have wanted to keep her in the dark about her own pain, she’s sure Charlie was aware of it on some level. More than once she found herself having to hastily wipe away her tears because her little girl just barged into the room, only to throw her arms around here and tell her ‘there, there mommy’.

Charlie notices when they’re different around each other.

And now that Lexa’s not letting her run around the store to her heart’s content, it’s much easier for her to focus on them. Lexa notices. Charlie knows something is wrong. Different.

Her brow furrows and she looks between the both of them and she wishes it wasn’t so obvious that they haven’t said one word to each other since they got to the mall.

“Mama?”

“Are you mad at me?” she asks Clarke, voice even higher than usual.

“Of course not, Charlie. Where did you get that idea?”

Charlie stops walking. She lets go of their hands and crosses her little arms, and Lexa would find it adorable if it wasn’t for her expression, more upset by the second.

“Are you mad at each other then?” She demands, and her eyes water. “Again?”

“Charlie…” Lexa pleads, kneeling down to her height.

“Why?” Charlie asks, looking at her and then looking up at Clarke, ”Why?! What did I do?!”

” _Charlie_ ,” Clarke says carefully.

"You haven't done anything," Lexa promises. "It's just-"

"The why!?" Charlie screams, and Lexa takes a step back. Charlie's never talked back to her before.

“Charlie, lower your voice,” Clarke says.

Charlie’s chin wobbles.

“I want to go home! I don’t wanna be with either of you!”

Lexa’s heart breaks.

“Charlie…”

Charlie steps back, not letting either of them touch her. People start to look.

It’s been ages since she threw a tantrum in the middle of a store. Maybe never. Charlie was such a well behaved child, even as a toddler. She’s not right now.

“Charlie, come on,” Lexa pleads.

“No, I’m mad! I’m mad at both of you!”

"Well w’re still your mothers, even when you’re mad,” Clarke says, and she picks Charlie up despite her protests. She was always the strongest of them both when it came to Charlie acting up. Lexa was the one who read her one more story, who acquiesced and granted one more cookie, who said no but meant maybe.

Clarke is harder, and in that moment Lexa is thankful, though she hurts over a strong hand being needed at all.

They leave without finding the pens.

 

 

 

_(September 18th, 2024.)_

_Lexa walks into the Family Division of the Superior Court of the District of Columbia on a bright Monday morning. It’s cold._

_Charlie is with Abby. The papers weight heavy on Lexa’s hand._

_She spent the previous week going through them, only a few at a time and with a healthy helping of scotch in hand. She thought it would be simple, once the decision was taken, once she decided that this was the last thing she could give Clarke. She blames herself. She thinks she’ll always blame herself. She left. She lost the baby and then she left and then Clarke filed for divorce. It’s not how she hoped their story would play out but it’s what she gets. Maybe it’s what she deserves._

_And so she gives this to Clarke._

_She goes over financial statements, alimony forms and child support (and how Clarke doesn’t require or want either of those). The visitation schedule for Charlie. They’d been having her two days each since their -separation, the court papers call it- 6 months ago, and the schedule Clarke submits for her to agree on is only slightly different. 2 days each, then one of them gets 3 days, and all over again. They both get long weekends with their daughter twice a month._

_Lexa agrees._

_The only things she contests is the money regarding the house. They bought it together, and Clarke wants to give Lexa her half of the money out of her pocket instead of selling the house. She disagrees. She tries not to think about how absolutely Clarke wants to separate their lives, and only thinks about Charlie._

_She doesn’t care about the money. When she and Clarke bought that house they did it because they knew it’d be perfect to raise a family in. She bought it knowing in her heart that it would be for her children. Her child._

_It’s Charlie’s home. Clarke doesn’t have to give her a cent._

_She signs everything and sends it back. And then she receives the court date. The day she has to show up and completely dissolve her marriage and put an end to their lives together._

_Clarke wears blue to the appointment._

_It feels like a stab to Lexa’s heart, like one last bullet entering her body shot by her her -after this morning is over- ex-wife. Blue always made her eyes stand out. Clarke’s bouquet was blue for their wedding._

_And oh, now she remembers, when Clarke finally meets her eyes, how her eyes were always brighter and bluer while she cried. Clarke’s eyes are wet. Suddenly, so are Lexa’s._

_It goes by fast, so, so ridiculously fast._

_12 years together end with a single signature, and Lexa can’t help the tear that squeezes out and narrowly misses the heavyweight piece of paper where she’s laying down her name -her maiden name._

_She thinks she sees Clarke crying too, out of the corner of her eye, but she can’t bear to look. It’d be like staring at the sun. Lexa swears to God she’d go blind._

_It feels wrong. Every second. Every word from the goddamn judge as she congratulates them for having everything figured out, and points out how good that will be going forward for their daughter. All Lexa can think is how could it possibly be good for Charlie? How could it be good for her?_

_But then she remembers the fighting and the crying and the wretched misery they used to live in, and thinks maybe this was the inevitable end she brought on herself when she decided to leave. Maybe this is what’s best for Charlie. How can Lexa be a good judge of that if she left for 6 fucking months?_

_The judge closes the folder, and Lexa watches their signatures disappear from sight just like the future she envisioned for them._

 

 

 

Charlie runs into Abby’s arms the minute the car door is opened.

Lexa is sure the only reason she didn’t jump out of the car the minute it stopped is because she has the child safety on.

Abby picks Charlie up, not without effort, and her heart breaks when she sees how Charlie clings to her grandmother. She’s mad at both her moms, she said it herself.

Abby directs a questioning look at her, and then at Clarke. Clarke shakes her head. Abby rubs Charlie’s back and walks back inside her house, her last look something akin to ‘fix your shit’. Abby told her they were both her kids, and she never feels it more than that moment.

The door closes behind her.

She looks toward Clarke. She nods her head to the chairs on Abby’s front porch, and Lexa follows after her when she begins walking.

They sit there, in silence.

Lexa knows she meant for them to speak, but she doesn’t know where to begin. 

She takes a breath.

“You shouldn’t have found out that way,” she tells Clarke. Clarke nods, looking into the distance. Lexa does the same. She doesn’t think she has it in her to look her in the eyes. “I was planning on telling you as soon as I decided things,” she says. It’s not really true. She hadn’t thought about it at all, but she logically knew it had to happen at some point.

“You haven’t decided?” Clarke asks.

Lexa doesn’t want to lie. She has, she had, she just hadn’t admitted it to herself. Lexa thinks maybe she subconsciously decided the second she saw the envelope.

“I mean when I had all the details,” she corrects herself. “Where I’m going to live-”

“So it’s happening then.”

Lexa doesn't know what to do but nod.

“We can change our schedule to one week with her each. She’s old enough that she’ll be okay with that. She went with you and…Finn for a week, and she was fine. I’ve thought about this. I would never do anything that could hurt her.”

It takes Clarke a while to speak again. Lexa feels every minute crawl by, drag, like too-heavy autumns leaves the wind can’t pick up.

“What about Charlie’s school?” Clarke asks.

“I’ll drive her to school,” she tells her. “Like always. She’ll get to sleep a bit more in her seat.”

“You’ll drive that long, every day.” Clarke chuckles, the sound filled with self-deprecation. “You really that desperate to never see me again?”

Lexa doesn’t take the joke for what it is. Instead, she’s honest.

“It’s not about you, Clarke,” she says. “For the first time in ages, I'm doing something for me. I know I ran, before. I know I was selfish. And I’ll always regret that. But it’s done. I can’t change it. And we moved past it, you moved on. And I don't…I don't fault you for that. But now it’s my turn.”

Clarke turns towards her, her eyes icy.

“I think you’re making a mistake,” Clarke says. “Charlie is used to our arrangement, and you’re going to turn her life upside down again. That’s what I think, but I know you don’t care about that. You don’t care that you’re being-”  Clarke clenches her jaw shut, and Lexa can imagine what was about to come out. Clarke takes a deep breath. Lexa tries to. “I will ask you for one thing,” Clarke says. “Don’t let Charlie down. You’ll have to take care of her when- even when she’s with me and you’re hours away, okay? We don’t do that now properly but we’ll have to. She can’t go one week without seeing either of us.”

Lexa nods.

Between so much tension, they can agree on that. Charlie comes first.

“I know,” Lexa says. “I’ll call her every night. We could…we could maybe even think about getting her a cell-phone like she wanted.”

It diffuses some of the tension between them.

“Oh, she’d be happy about that,” Clarke mentions. She looks back toward the street.

Lexa follows her line of sight. Perfect little suburban houses lined one after the other until the street disappears into the horizon. Perfect little homes with perfect little families inside, she expects. And she’s here, telling her ex-wife she’s moving and they’ll have to change their schedule for co-parenting their daughter. 

It’s not the life she envisioned for herself, but it’s the one she got.

Clarke is quiet, next to her. Lexa knows Clarke doesn’t agree with her plans and it makes her doubt, if only slightly, but they were able to talk about it without screams or hurtful words. (She shouldn't have expected them to. She's always known Clarke's anger build and builds and then explodes. She saw that two days ago on her rooftop.) The silent disgust she gets now is far worse...but it's still civil.

“Are we…” Lexa can’t even ask if they’re okay. They’re the farthest thing from okay. But Clarke goes on from her silence.

“I don’t know if we’ll ever be, Lexa,” she says, shaking her head faintly before going back inside.

 

 

 

_(February 16th, 2025.)_

_It wakes her up._

_She’s been sleeping much better since she started taking the medication Indra recommended, and it’s a wonder the beeping of her cellphone breaks through the layers of slumber._

_When she sees the caller’s ID, her blood runs cold._

_She answers the call at once._

_“Hello? Clarke?”_

_Her first reaction is not confusion or anger or even sadness. It’s worry. Clarke is…Clarke is Clarke. Lexa couldn’t bear it if anything happened to her, and she has no idea what could be so important to call her in the middle of the night._

_The only thing that keeps her from spiraling into full blown panic is that Charlie is asleep in her room, so this can’t be about her._

_“Clarke, is everything okay?”_

_The line is quiet, but she hears heavy breathing. Was she in an accident? Lexa looks at the clock -it’s 2 am. She’s about to ask Clarke what’s going on again when a single phrase stops her cold._

_“I love you,” Clarke says._

_Lexa can’t breathe._

_She can’t think, can barely see in front of her. There’s a hum of white noise in her ears. Static. Her chest feels tight._

_“I love you, Lexa. How did we get here?”_

_Lexa drops the phone. By the time she picks it up with trembling fingers the call has already disconnected._

_It might as well. She has no idea what she would have said to that._

_All she knows is that it puts her on edge. It unearths everything that she’d long since buried. Or tried to._

_She doesn’t sleep a wink the rest of the night._

_Abby comes by early the next morning to take Charlie to the park, and Lexa tries to ignore her worried looks, which she’s sure are about the dark circles under her eyes._

_Lexa paces in her apartment, unable to forget Clarke’s word, Clarke’s tone of voice. She sounded wrecked. She sounded like Lexa felt, every time she remembered the nights they spent together, reading to each other before bed, cuddling in front of the fireplace, or making love. Clarke called her, drunk, and told her she loves her._

_Clarke filed for divorce almost 6 months ago._

_Lexa moved out of their home a year…she realizes it on the spot. Yesterday it was a year since she left. So that’s what the call was about? Is that why Clarke was drinking?_

_She hates it. She hates that it gives her hope that Clarke means what she said, and that if it’s true, she’ll be willing to try again. It’s a pipe dream at this point, but Lexa can’t help it._

_In turn, that makes her angry. She’s not sure if she’s angry at Clarke or at herself or at the fucking universe, but she doesn’t know what to do to stop feeling like this, to stop thinking of her ex-wife altogether._

_And then she hears the twinkling of keys on the apartment across the hall._

_Costia looks like she’s coming back from a run._

_Lexa doesn’t even think about it when she walks up to her._

_Costia kisses her back._

_Her lips are hot and wet on hers, and her body feels the warmest that it has in almost a year when Costia turns them around and traps her between her body and the corridor wall._

_The woman smiles against her lips, and Lexa realizes she hasn’t closed her eyes._

_It doesn’t feel right. Costia is too tall and too thin and Lexa is shocked for a moment, that she did this, but even more, that she’s still doing it._

_She pulls away._

_“I’m…I’m so sorry. I can’t.”_

_She shakes her head and wipes her lips with the side of her hand, and if Costia is angry she doesn’t show it. She just looks disappointed, and understanding, and that makes Lexa feel even worse._

_“Seems like you should talk to your ex before getting into anything with someone new,” Costia says quietly. She pats Lexa’s shoulder. “You’re a good woman, Lexa.”_

_She walks back to her apartment without a second look._

_Lexa turns back on unstable legs and locks herself in her apartment, aware she only has an hour at most until Charlie and Abby come back, and she has to push it all back down again._

_She sinks down against her bedroom door, and she cries._

_She loves her ex-wife. She still loves her. And now she knows Clarke loves her too. But love was never the problem. And she understands, she does but her heart doesn’t. The stubborn muscle knows nothing of disappointment and legalities and keeps beating for her._

_She doesn’t think she’ll ever stop being haunted by Clarke._

 

 

 

Lexa enters her cold apartment, and immediately adjusts the thermostat.

She drapes her jacket over the couch and briefly debates if she’s hungry enough to heat something up. She’s not. She walks to her bedroom, and changes into an old college shirt and pajama pants.

Her conversation with Clarke circles her mind while she gets ready for bed, far earlier than usual.

The first time she left was a mistake, she knows that now. It took a lot of self reflection and a dozen appointments with Indra, but Lexa accepted it when her therapist labeled it isolation as an (unhealthy) coping mechanism. 

This doesn’t feel like that. 

This feels like her acknowledging that as a woman, not as a mother or as a lawyer, but as a woman…there’s nothing here for her except heartache.

 Memories follow her at every corner, and she’s not strong enough to stand it anymore. She can’t watch Clarke with her boyfriend. She can barely see Octavia be happily pregnant. She’s leaving, again. But this time it feels right. Mostly.

(She feels like she’s abandoning Clarke, all over again. Except Clarke isn’t hers to abandon.) 

And she knows she’s not going to abandon Charlie.

Clarke thinks she’s making a mistake, but Lexa knows what a mistake feels like, and this isn’t it. She hopes it isn’t.

So she reaches for her phone, checks the hour to see it’s not too late, and grabs the letter from Polis Corporation in her bedside drawer.

She makes a call.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much happened in the present but we've finally got the whole picture of how they got divorced and why (we'll be having less flashbacks from now on). Let me know what you think! I read all of your comments and they mean so much to me even if I can't answer all of them.


	9. Chapter 9

 

_July 12th, 2022._

_The kids run around the house, and Clarke keeps an ear on their laughter, the knowledge that everything is currently fine. Charlie’s hasn’t been 4 for long enough yet that Clarke feels comfortable letting her to her own devices even in a locked house, so she keeps an eye on her and knows that Lexa is doing the same._

_Her eyes trail after them as they all barrel through the living room, crawl underneath the coffee table, and come out the other side. Jay and Charlie try to keep up with River, and the 7 year old is as accommodating as a child can be. She’s definitely Lincoln’s kid._

_Mike squirms in Wells arms, obviously wanting to get down and join the fun, but at 2 he’d only get hurt. Clarke waves at the baby, distracting him for just a second._

_“He’s adorable, isn’t he?” Lexa asks quietly in her ear, and Clarke can’t help the shiver that runs through her body at her wife’s warm breath near her neck. It’s reflex._

_“Mmhm,” she nods. They’ve agreed to try again, but they want to wait until Charlie is in school. Not long now._

_Lexa kisses her neck, and Clarke smiles to herself and sinks back against her wife’s embrace. Her wife’s arms settle comfortably around her waist, and Clarke feels completely surrounded by warmth. Love. She feels safe._

_“You gonna do special hugs?” A squeaky voice asks, and Clarke laughs as she turns to look at Charlie. Lexa hides her face in her neck._

_“No, baby. Go play.”_

_“Special hugs?” Lincoln chuckles, like he’s guessed what it’s about._

_“Caught you doing the nasty, did she?” Raven asks, and Clarke flips her off. Raven laughs. “God, I’m so glad I don’t have those problems.”_

_Octavia takes a drink from her wine, before settling against Lincoln._

_“Lincoln and I went with ‘wrestling’,” Octavia volunteers, and Lincoln laughs, hearty and deep. Lexa giggles against her neck._

_“You’re all a mess,” Raven says. “Any stories to share, Wells? Sasha?”_

_“He’s 5,” Wells says, handing little Mike to his wife. “We told him what sex is.”_

_“Oh, come on,” Clarke says._

_“Exactly!” Lexa exclaims. “I wanted to do that. But Clarke said 4 is too young to explain the concept of human sexuality. Half the fun is in confusing our children, isn’t it?” Lexa asks Clarke, pinching her side._

_“We’re preserving her innocence!” She argues, slapping Lexa’s hand away. She can feel her wife’s a second away from tickling._

_Charlie had caught them having sex an early morning last week, and Clarke’s mind had blanked out. It was bound to happen, she guesses, given that she and Lexa’s sex drive hadn’t changed all that much after getting married or after Charlie was born, but still._

_Clarke’s at least thankful she didn’t have the strap-on on or was doing anything other than a good ‘ol riding Lexa’s thigh. She and Lexa pulled underwear on at top speed, trying not to laugh. It was still mortifying. Even worse was the fact that Charlie kept making questions, and at 4, she wasn’t satisfied with flimsy answers._

_So…special hug._

_Clarke still wants to face-palm just remembering it. Lexa had mouthed ‘special hug, seriously?’ over Charlie’s head while she pulled her underwear on, and Clarke tried hard not to laugh._

_‘I want hugs too’ Charlie had clamored. ‘But why are you nakey?’_

_Lexa had lost it then. Clarke had thrown a pillow at the back of her head when she disappeared into the bathroom._

_And then a little finger poked her boob._

_‘Mommy, did I really eat from there?’_

_Needless to say, that prompted and entirely new line of questioning._

_“She’s gonna enter school soon,” Lexa reminds her, pulling her out from her embarrassing memories. “Do you not think she’s going to find out?”_

_“Hopefully not for a few more years at least,” she says, still cringing at the awkwardness of her mother clinically explaining the birds and the bees when she was in third grade._

_Lexa kisses her cheek, and Clarke turns slightly to kiss her on the lips._

_“What was that about preserving innocence?” Raven asks. Lexa laughs even as she keeps kissing her._

_“There are children here!” Octavia exclaims, and a flying pillow separates them. Clarke gasps._

_“Yeah, and you’re the worst of them,” she says, throwing the thing right back at Octavia. It hits her straight in the face and the room breaks out in laughter. Lincoln holds Octavia in his arms, pulling her back from retaliating, Lexa pulls her on to her lap to protect herself, and Clarke’s stomach hurts from laughing so much. The kids laughter and running is still coming from River’s room._

_Everything is well._

 

* * *

 

 

Dinner is a quiet affair.

Seldom are their reunions as loud as they used to be, and Clarke often feels guilty about that, for some reason. Like she getting a divorce did more than change her life, but changed the dynamic between herself and her friends as well. Put a damper in their reunions.

Still, she enjoys herself.

It’s been a few weeks since she last saw Raven, since work kept her away and busy, and it’s good reconnecting. Octavia spends half the evening in the bathroom, and Lincoln helps her stand up and sit down even when she pushes him away, because her belly is only getting bigger. Sasha and Wells get to meet Finn, something that she hadn’t even realized hadn’t happened yet, and they get along fine.

“Should we call Abby?” Wells asks during a lull in conversation, and Clarke smiles.

“They’re fine,” Octavia says.

“Yeah, she’s with Kane,” Clarke backs her up. “They’ll be okay for the night.”

“No, they’ll be outnumbered,” Wells answers, and Clarke sees Sasha hide her amused smile behind her napkin. (Clarke brought out the nice cloth napkins, because she’s an adult holding a nice dinner party. She sort of misses when it still felt wild and fun like college, but that was before.)

Octavia shrugs.

“Not as outnumbered as they’ll be when this one is born,” she says patting her belly, and Clarke no longer feels that wince inside, that reminder that she almost, almost had that again.

Finn is quiet. He’s the only in the room without children of his own.

“Oh, that’s not fair with Abby,” Sasha pipes in.

“Nah, she likes it,” Clarke tells her, waving her teasing concern away. Her mother likes having their kids over. River, Charlie, Mike and Jay are a handful, but her mother enjoys the screams and the laughter of a sleepover every once in a while. And Kane never had children of his own, he likes it too. “She’s only got one grandchild out of me, she loves having all the kids over every once in a while.”

She doesn’t think about what she says until after it’s out there, and if the quiet and sudden awkwardness in the room is anything to go by, the others have realized.

Raven steps in.

“Well lets just hope it doesn’t delve into a Lord of the Flies type of thing,” Raven says, and it’s not that funny, but it does its job and breaks the tension. They laugh.

“I trust Mrs.Griffin to get them to behave,” Wells says.

“You can call her Abby, I promise,” O teases, and the conversation delves into her friends teasing Wells for being so polite even after so many years. Finn remains none the wiser about the sudden tension in the conversation. Raven notices. Clarke wouldn’t have expected anything else.

It’s been a while since they spoke about it, all of them. With Lexa it kind of turned into a taboo topic, but Clarke still found support talking to her friends. Sometimes Octavia and Raven and even Sasha, just listening, helped. And after Lexa left, it was all she had.

They finish dinner, and then finish the bottle of red wine Finn brought with dessert.

Finn joins Wells and Octavia in a conversation about a football game that Clarke doesn’t care nor wants to care about, and Clarke uses the chance to carry the brownie leftovers back to the kitchen and put them away.

It’s good that Finn doesn’t need her next to him to talk to her friends, isn’t it? It has to be a sign that he fits in, right?

She doesn’t know.

She focuses on the menial task of stacking the brownie squares into a plastic container. She’s almost done when Raven walks in, and unapologetically steals a piece from out of the box.

“These are great,” she says.

“Thank you,” Clarke answers. She knows Raven’s strategies. She can see one of her hooks for trying to start a conversation a mile away.

Raven doesn’t disappoint.

“You haven’t told him about the baby?” she asks.

Clarke sighs.

“I don’t spend a lot of time talking to my boyfriend about my ex-wife,” she says, sorry when it comes out a bit more biting than intended.

“Clarke…”

“What, Rae?”

Raven shrugs.

“I don’t know. I guess I just thought you were serious about him.”

Clarke’s stomach turns over.

“I mean,” Raven continues. “The way you sounded on the phone…”

Clarke’s gotten good at that. She used to be able to tell Charlie everything was fine when Charlie called from Lexa’s, while still wiping her tears away those first few days without her daughter or wife.

“I don’t know,” she tells her friend truthfully.

“Well, I’m here if you need to talk,” Raven offers. “The company won’t move me around again until next year probably, so just say the word and girl’s night is back. I’ve missed that.” Raven’s smile is infectious, and soon she’s grinning. “We can talk about, you know.”

And she knows Rae means Finn, but Clarke would rather talk about whatever is going on with her. Maybe this is what her friends are for. Maybe she wont be inconveniencing them. Octavia is heavily pregnant, sure, but she’s tough as nails. And Raven is back. She could just…tell them. 

Especially now that Lexa is leaving. (Leaving again.)

She nods.

“I’ll text you.  And O, too. We’ll make it happen.”

Raven smiles and pats her shoulder; before walking back to the living room and the others. Clarke stays behind.

The night is over sooner than she hopes to, and Sasha and Wells are the first to go. She says goodbye to her friends, packing leftovers for Octavia to munch on later and for Wells to take home to Sasha’s mom, who lives with them. They hug and she opens and closes the door for them as they file out.

And then she’s alone with Finn.

Who she hasn’t told the reason she and Lexa split up.

But in the three months they’ve been together it just never came up. She only spoke about the divorce fleetingly, a footnote in her story and not a whole fucking painful chapter of it. At first she told herself that it was a heavy topic, too heavy to bring up in a first date, or a fifth date. And then she simply didn't because that pain was hers, hers and Lexa’s. Their family’s. 

Finn wasn't family. At least, not yet.

It’s the same reason she hasn’t told him about her appointments, about her concerns. It’s not just that the relationship is too new, that …is it three months now? Is nothing. Clarke doesn’t…she doesn't trust him enough. Not yet. But she knows that comes with time. 

Not family yet. Not long enough yet. (She doesn't know why the thought of the opposite makes her panic.)

“Hey.”

She jumps at the feel of his breath on her cheek, and then shakes her head at her self.

“Hey.” She tries to smile, to be normal.

“So that went fine.” Finn says, his arms wrapping around her waist.

“Yeah.” She shrugs. “They like you,” she adds for his benefit.

“They were nice,” Finn says. He’s met Octavia and Lincoln and Wells on distinct occasions, but never like this and never at all once.  And she knows Finn, knows that’s exactly what he means. And being nice doesn't liking make. But he doesn't add anything else.

He kisses her instead.

It’s wet and warm and comfortable, but Clarke just can’t get into it. A million thoughts circle through her mind and she doesn’t have enough brain power left to make herself enjoy her boyfriend’s presence.

She tries to tactfully pull away. His next kiss falls on her cheek. He nuzzles there, his stubble scratching her jaw.

“We havent..in a while, you know.” His voice is low, Clarke guesses he means for it to be suggestive. But she’s not in the mood.

“I'm sorry it’s just…work has me really stressed, okay?”

His arms tighten slightly around her.

“I could help relax you,” he offers.

“Not tonight, Finn,” she says, stepping away from him and disentangling his arms frond around her. “Sorry.”

He steps away, and nods.

“Can I stay, at least?” he asks, looking down at her, and Clarke is reminded why she liked him. “Just to be with you?”

She nods -and then hesitates.

“My mom is dropping off Charlie at 8-”

“I’ll be out of here before then,” Finn promises, and Clarke nods again.

“Just give me a minute,” she tells him. 

Finn disappears up the stairs.

Clarke walks through the house, turning off light after light. When she gets to the kitchen, however, she fills a glass with water and opens the back door. The chrysanthemums are looking dimmer, somehow, though it’s likely just the late hour. 

She walks back inside, and sheds her shirt before she even walks in the room. She doesn’t want for Finn to smell the night air, the mist and the cold and ask questions.

They cuddle. Clarke has always appreciated how it feels to sleep with company.

Tonight, though, it’s not just the pain in her breast that Finn doesn't know about that makes her think his arms feel wrong.

  

 

* * *

  

_(December 3rd, 2023.)_

_It’s 4 months to the day, to the hour._

_They finished the procedure in the afternoon, Clarke remembers the exact time. 3:14 pm. Her eyes had wandered away from what she’d seen, the bloody implements and the…she could barely think about it, and after looking at Lexa they’d landed on the clock._

_It’s been 4 months and it doesn’t hurt any less._

_It’s worse, if that’s even possible._

_Those first few days, Lexa had let her hug her, be there for her. That same afternoon, her wife had let her cry in her arms and Clarke had done the same for her in return. And Clarke had had no reason to doubt they would get through it._

_Things are different now._

_She can’t remember the last time she and Lexa slept wrapped around each other. She’s had to adjust the thermostat because after so many years of sleeping so close, her body almost doesn’t know how to regulate it’s temperature, how to be warm without her. She can’t function without Lexa._

_Except she can._

_Because she has to._

_She has to remember to drive Charlie to school, because Lexa still won’t go anywhere near a car. (And that’s all right, Clarke understands, or at least she tries to.) She has to pick her up. Some of the smaller things, too. Lexa has no problem helping her with her homework, everything except biology, but Clarke has had to completely take over lunches. She’s taken over cooking, too._

_Lexa barely eats. Clarke had tried cooking what she liked at first, and then new meals, but her appetite was gone, and Clarke understood, or at least she tried to. But that meant she forgot to cook, which meant she forgot to cook for Charlie, and getting a call from her 5 year old daughter because she was hungry was a wake up call for Clarke._

_So she took over cooking. She tried to always have a meal in the fridge in case they wanted her to stay for a surgery over night, something easy to heat up, lasagna, sandwiches. She trusted Lexa to do it but she’d taught Charlie how to use the microwave anyways behind Lexa’s back, using plastic dishes only so she doesn’t get burned._

_Her head felt like it was going to explode most days, with work and taking care of the house and driving Charlie, the lunches, making dinner. And the hurt, the hurt, the hurt. The pain over losing their baby was pushed deep to the back of her mind, to the basement of her heart, locked with a heavy paddle. She couldn’t afford to let it out._

_Lexa had gone back to work after a month, and Clarke thought that meant she was getting better. And she did, she supposed, in a way. She started pulling her own weight around the house again, and Clarke was able to breathe for the first time in weeks when Lexa started driving Charlie to school again._

_But it didn’t mean she started talking._

_Clarke was worried. Everyone was worried. Raven and Octavia and Wells watched them both go through that first terrible month, offering their help and to have Charlie over for sleepovers so they could get some alone time to talk, but nothing worked. Lexa seemed like a different person, cold and aloof and robotic, and Clarke tried to understand, but with each passing month the want, the crying out for her wife, only got louder._

_And then there were the anniversaries._

_That first month Clarke asked Octavia to take a Charlie, and what she’d taught would be a break through, turned into getting home to find Lexa asleep, and smelling of alcohol. Clarke dumped every single drop the had on the house afterward. She wouldn’t let her wife go down that path. She’d lost count of the amount of time she’d craved a drink or a smoke, the way she did in college, but she was no longer a college student during exams week, she was a mother, a wife. She couldn’t do it. It made her angry that Lexa did. But she understood, or at least she tried to. But soon enough that turned into resentment, resentment she hated to feel but did._

_The second month Lexa had been mad at her, and they hadn’t talked. Clarke had still been reeling from one of Charlie’s classmates mentioning the baby, making Clarke realize that she and Lexa hadn’t been the only ones affected. Charlie didn’t suffer they way they did, but she knew, in her happy, uncomplicated way of seeing the world. Clarke didn’t push Lexa to talk to her. She just let her be._

_(She couldn’t help but wonder how much worse could it be, to be the one who was pregnant and then wasn’t, how much more often Lexa was approached by well-meaning people and handed the phrases she knows Lexa hates. She didn’t ask. She didn’t want another fight about pushing. Lexa didn’t tell.)_

_The third month Lexa went for a run, and the three of them had a quiet dinner, punctuated only by Charlie’s comments about whatever she’d seen on TV. They didn’t acknowledge it at all, except for Clarke’s comment that it’d been three months, and Lexa’s response was taking a shower that lasted until Clarke fell asleep._

_She was exhausted._

_Octavia had suggested couple’s therapy, and Clarke had tried that too._

_(Octavia had told her she and Lincoln had attended a few sessions, when they were going through a rough patch a few months before, and Clarke had been shocked. She had no idea there’d be a rough patch for her friends of any sort. And Clarke had thought maybe what she and Lexa were going through wasn’t unusual. Maybe a marriage was just too private for it’s intricacies to be shared with others. Maybe it was normal._

_Then again, maybe she just hadn’t known because their usual girl nights, she and Lexa, Octavia, and sometimes Raven or Sasha, hadn’t happened in so long. Since before the miscarriage.)_

_But Lexa had run from that. And now Clarke didn’t know what to do._

_So today, the fourth month anniversary to the date of that loss, she decided not to try anything at all. Not herself at least._

_She asks Raven to talk to Lexa._

_She asks all their friends to come over to distract her, to distract them both from the awful date staring back at them in the calendar, she has her mom take care of all the kids, and she cooks all afternoon. And after dinner, while everyone is sitting around talking and drinking wine, she asks Raven to talk to Lexa._

_Raven had always gotten Lexa more than Octavia had, and she thought if Lexa didn’t want to talk to her, then maybe she’d want to talk to one of their friends. (Raven reminds her she’d already tried, a few times actually, a few weeks after it happened, and Lexa had cuttingly pushed her away, but Clarke still pleads with her to try again. More time had gone by. Maybe it would be different.)_

_It isn’t._

_Lexa excuses herself, and after a moment Raven follows after her, and then so does Clarke. She stands outside the door, solely because she needs to understand her wife._

_She needs to hear what she’s not doing right, what Lexa’s feeling, what she can to do to fix things. To fix her._

_She stands outside the door, listening._

_But Lexa doesn’t tell Raven anything but to mind her own business._

_And later, while she brings dessert out, she can feel Lexa’s eyes on her, and it unnerves her in a way it never has before. She feels guilty, like Lexa knows it was her, like Lexa feels Clarke betrayed her, somehow._

_After everyone’s gone for the night, she’s proven right._

_She enters her room quietly, and Lexa is already standing there, waiting for her. A shiver runs to Clarke. A fight is the last thing she wanted._

_“What was that?” Lexa asks, her tone as betrayed as Clarke felt her gaze, but measured, slow._

_Clarke takes a deep breath._

_“If it’s not me you want to talk to then so be it. I can take that.” She meets Lexa’s eyes. “But you need to talk to someone. You clearly didn't like the idea of therapy-”_

_“Because I don’t need it,” Lexa interrupts, her voice climbing. “Because I’m not fucking crazy-”_

_“You’re depressed!” Clarke exclaims! “Or…I don’t know. You’re…you’re something. You’re shutting down on me, Lexa. And I know…I know you don’t mean to, I know there’s stuff about your parents-”_

_“Don’t talk about my parents.”_

_Clarke powers on._

_“I know you were alone before but you’re not now. Do you get that?” She feels like a broken record, spinning, dizzy, pointless. “You can talk to me, or Raven, or O, or Wells or -fucking hell- my mother. Just-”_

_“I don’t walk to talk,” Lexa says. “Are you listening to me?”_

_Clarke squeezes the bridge of her nose._

_“Maybe you don’t want to but you need to-”_

_“You don’t know what I need,” Lexa says with an air of finality. “Stop trying to guess.”_

_Lexa sits down on their bed, and begins her daily routine of taking her shoes, and pretending like Clarke is not in the room._

_Clarke close her eyes. Her head hurts._

_“You won’t talk to your own wife,” she says. “You wont talk to someone literally licensed for it, so I thought one of our friends would be enough. Rae is worried about you. Wells is, my mom. We’re all worried and I just thought you needed-”_

_“What I need is to be alone!”_

_Clarke keeps her eyes closed so her frustration doesn't spill out in the form of tears. She knows better than to slip into their bed that night._

_She settles on the couch with a single too-short blanket and sets her cell-phone to wake her up at 4, so when her mom drops off Charlie in the morning, her daughter won’t know where she spent the night._

 

* * *

 

 

She’s acting like a child.

The worst part of it is that Clarke is acutely aware that she’s acting like a child, and she’s taken no steps to remedy that.

She might be an adult woman, with a child and a divorce under her belt, but she still knows how to ignore her mother like she was still in college.

She’s been screening her calls, and Octavia and Lincoln dropped off Charlie and River yesterday after their dance class, so she didn’t have to face her mom.

It bothers her, that her mother knew about Lexa’s plans. She’s always known her mom kept some sort of relationship with Lexa, that she still saw her every once in a while, but she didn’t know up to what point Lexa…trusted her.

And she has to trust her a great deal, because Lexa has always kept her thoughts and feelings close to her chest. It ticks her the wrong way that Lexa’s been talking to her mom about moving. It feels like a betrayal. Like her mom knew their world was about to be turned upside down and didn’t think to tell Clarke.

If she hadn’t walked in, she wonders when would she have found out at all. She’s still irritated about that.

Now, there’s not much she can by way of ignoring her, especially when her car pulls up her driveway.

Charlie jumps off and Clarke makes it a point to remind herself to tell her daughter to wait until a doctor unbuckles her from her seat instead of just doig it herself and jumping. She could land wrong. Or the car could still be on and God forbid could run her over. 

She’ll talk to her, but later.

She has the door open just in time for Charlie to come barreling in.

“Mama, mama, mama, mama.”

Charlie mumbles against her stomach, and Clarke leans down to drop a kiss on her head.

“How was the sleepover?”

“River told us horror stories!” Charlie says, bouncing on her feet. “Jay almost peed his pants.” She punctuates her statement with a giggle.

Clarke looks up to see her mom walk in.

“Okay,” she tells Charlie. “You can tell me all about that during lunch, yeah? Go leave your stuff in your room. And the-”

“The stinky dance clothes outside the bag. I know.” Charlie rolls her eyes.

“Please and thank you,” Clarke says, and sends her on her way with a pat on the butt. 

She straightens up.

“Mom,” she says, knowing there’s no point in delaying things.

“Clarke.”

Clarke motions toward the living room. 

“Please, come in.”

“I can’t stay long,” her mom says. “Marcus wants to take me out for lunch.” Her mom smiles.

Clarke nods, smiles politely.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Clarke asks, walking deeper into the house. She wishes it was that to easy to walk away from her problems.

“That.... That thing where you do what you think I want to see to avoid talking to me. I know you’ve been ignoring my calls.”

“I’ve been busy with work.”

“Ah, I remember that tone. Clarke-”

“What do you want me to tell you, mom?”

Her mom is rendered quiet. Clarke looks towards the stairs, making sure Charlie is not around.

“You knew she was going to move away." It sounds like an accusation. "That she’d been making all these...plans ,that affected your granddaughter, and you said nothing to me.”

She keeps her tone in check, but her voice betrays the tension in her shoulders.

“It wasn’t mine to tell,” her mom says simply.

“I’m your daughter,” Clarke tells her. “Charlie’s your-”

“Do you think I wasn’t worried about Charlie?” Her mom asks, and Clarke feels guilty. She knows her mom loves her more than anything. “Of course I was, but Lexa…Have you even spoken to her again? After the house?”

Clarke shakes her head.

She'd gone back inside, had a tense dinner with her mom where they avoided the elephant in the room, and she'd gone home afterwards to stew in her own resentment and wonder when her mother started picking sides, and why she picked one that wasn't hers.

“She made mistakes in the past, but she was hurting,” her mom says, and it only makes everything Clarke’s been thinking about come to the forefront.

“I was hurting too, mom.” She shakes her head again, looks away, anything to keep the barrage of emotion at bay. “I was hurting and I fought for us, for our family. I didn't leave.” Her pointer finger raises of its own accord. “I... was hurting... too.” The last word makes it out in barely anything more than a whisper.

“I know,” her mom says, knowing enough not to touch her first. She shrugs, and it's somehow sad. “But she’s still hurting now.”

 _So am I,_ Clarke thinks, but doesn’t say.

Charlie comes stomping down the stairs then, effectively breaking the tension.

Clarke is always thankful for her daughter, but especially in moments like this.

Charlie and her mom hug and say their goodbyes; and her mom promises to take Charlie to the park soon. Clarke doesn’t have it in her to hug her mom before she leaves.

She just nods.

Her mom goes.

It’s still early, so she leaves Charlie playing in the living room while she goes upstairs. She has to sort through Charlie’s overnight bag and get started on the laundry before making lunch, the routine of it all is nice. It takes her mind off everything she’d rather not think about.

When she gets to her daughter’s room, she finds Charlie’s dance bag in her bed, untouched.

All right then.

She takes everything out of the bag, and puts box with her jazz shoes away before going through all the clothes, humid and cold with dried sweat. She rolls her eyes. 

She goes through every pocket in the bag one last time, making sure there’s no towel she’s forgetting or snack left to rot in there (like last time). She’s almost done when her fingers collide with a corner, and she takes hold of the piece of…cardboard?

It’s not often that Luna sends the kids notes without also sending them through e-mail, just to be sure they get home, but she hasn’t gotten anything. She takes it out and-

It’s not a note from the dance school. It’s not a note at all.

It’s a picture.

A picture of their family.

Her handwriting in faded blue ink titles the photo ‘Charlie, seven months’. She, Lexa and a smiling baby Charlie, barely any hair on her head, smile for the camera.

 Clarke smiles, though it makes her wistful, makes her chest ache a little.

 She remembers that day. Charlie had been born with reddish hair, almost orange in the light, and she and Lexa had used to joke they’d gotten the sperm donor mixed up at the clinic. And then when she hit 4 months it all fell out, and they had a little bald baby. It started to grow again, the prettiest blond, the color it is now, at around six months old, and she’d had just enough to be brushed down for the picture. 

The baby Charlie staring back at her from the faded photograph  is holding a stuffed animal in her hand, this amorphous thing that could have been a raccoon if not for the lack of eye rings, or an elephant if not for the lack of a trunk. She and Lexa debated what the toy, a gift from Raven, could have been. Maybe it was an alien.

She swallows.

Lexa’s smiling so hard in the picture her eyes are closed, her whole face scrunched up tight with joy. She looks carefree. They both do.

Clarke’s throat is tight.

She doesn’t know where Charlie got the photo from. It looks like it came from their albums…but those are stored in boxes in the cupboard beneath the stairs. She had no idea Charlie knew that. Did she have it framed somewhere? No. She'd remember that.

 The picture has a few lines, it’s bended, the corners dirty. She wonders for how long it’s made its home in Charlie’s bag,  wonders if her daughter takes it with her everywhere.

She turns it around, and she gasps.

Because the back is not blank, it’s another photograph, gingerly pasted together. Clarke can just imagine Charlie doing it, determination on her face and stick glue in her hands. The mental picture makes her throat close up further. 

But it’s not another memory staring back at her. It’s not another reminder of the happiness they shared as a family, it’s not a glance at a better time in the past.

It’s them, not two months ago.

It’s Charlie’s 7th birthday party, and there’s the three of them in the shot again. But she had no idea that this picture was taken, or who did it. Surely her friends would have said something. Clarke remembers that day. She hadn’t been so close to Lexa in months, probably since the divorce, and the closeness has shocked her. They’d danced the way they did when Charlie was much smaller, when she was just a toddler and it was easy for them to hold them between their bodies while they slow danced. Charlie had loved it.

It seems she still did.

The photograph is in worse condition than the other one. It’s printed in regular paper, for starters, and the ink has run in places. Clarke doesn’t want to think about what did it, whether it was the passage of time or tiny fingers running over the image. They’re looking at Charlie in the picture, both of them. Charlie is not looking at either of them, her eyes on the ceiling and a smile on her face. But they’re both looking at her like she’s the best thing they’ve ever seen, like she’s the best thing the entire world has to offer, and she is. Their hands are touching. Their arms are overlapped over Charlie’s body, holding her up. She hadn’t noticed in the moment, she’d been too focused on her daughter.

A drop falls on the piece of paper, and Clarke is quick to wipe it away before it runs the ink. 

It’s still too late. A small, darker spot stains the paper, and she hopes Charlie won’t notice. She puts the photos back where she found them, in the pocket of Charlie’s bag, and wipes her cheeks.

She needs to sit down for a moment before taking the dirty clothes to the laundry room.

 

 

* * *

 

_(December 16th, 2023.)_

_She wakes Charlie up early, like her daughter asked the night before. Charlie rolls around for a few minutes, yawning and covering her eyes, before Clarke says the magic words, ‘mommy’s birthday’, and then Charlie is jumping out of bed, the haze of sleep quickly clearing away._

_Clarke lets Charlie mix the batter for the pancakes, and then she holds her over the stove so she can add blueberries as she sees fit when they’re frying on the pan. Charlie’s hand-drawn flowers go on a real glass vase, and they even cut a square of butter to put on top of the stack of pancakes before drizzling them with syrup._

_The tray is light enough that she lets Charlie carry it to the room, though she doesn’t trust her with the orange juice, which she carries in her hand._

_She opens the door to their bedroom._

_Lexa sleeps, still._

_Their bed is big enough that Clarke can get in an out without disturbing her, and her position hasn’t changed since she left her this morning. (They bought themselves such a big bed after Charlie turned 2, an anniversary present for themselves. They wanted Charlie and any future squirts to have all the room in the world to get into bed with them. The thought makes Clarke’s stomach turn. How that turned out.)_

_“Pssst,” Charlie whispers, her tone still so loud that it makes Clarke smile. “On counting tree,” she says._

_“Okay. ‘Happy Birthday’ on the count of tree. One, two…three!”_

_“Happy birthday mommy!” Charlie yells, and Clarke sees Lexa’s shoulder jump._

_“Lexa?” she asks softly._

_She only receives a grunt in return._

_“Lex,” she says again._

_“What?” she hears, the sleep heavy voice barely heard through the weight of the sheets._

_“Turn around,” Clarke tells her._

_Lexa doesn’t. Charlie looks up at Clarke, her face falling._

_“It’s breakfast,” Clarke tries again, brushing Charlie’s messy hair back and smiling, shrugging, trying to pretend like things are fine and her mommy is just grumpy._

_“Lexa-”_

_“I said I’m not hungry!”_

_Charlie gasps._

_Lexa turns around._

_“Char- oh baby.” Clarke sees her wife’s eyes frantically run over their child, from her bare feet to her bed hair to the pink and green paper flower on a vase. Lexa plasters a smile to her face. Clarke hasn’t seen that in so long, but while Charlie is too young to see behind it, Clarke can tell just how much effort it takes. “Come here,” Lexa tells Charlie, sitting up. “What have you got there?”_

_“Pancakes,” Charlie says, shy._

_“Yum!” Lexa exclaims, exaggerates. “That looks amazing. Did you make them?”_

_Charlie perks up, forgets about the earlier outburst._

_“Mama helped!” Charlie says, while walking towards the bed and finally putting the tray down with Lexa’s help. She climbs up on the bed afterward, shows Lexa the flower she painted while wishing her a happy birthday. Clarke can see how it dawns in Lexa’s face how she’d forgotten._

_Charlie doesn’t notice. She doesn’t concentrate on the bad, she doesn’t hesitate._

_Unlike Clarke, Charlie doesn’t hold grudges._

_Clarke often wishes she had her daughter’s boundless ability to give._  

 

* * *

 

 

Charlie practically inhales the pasta.

She chases the peas with her fork, her tongue trapped between her teeth in concentration, and Clarke smiles at her antics. Her little girl is so happy, so bright, so optimistic, she can hardly reconcile that with hiding a photograph to remind her of both of them.

She knows Charlie. She knows what seeing she and Lexa together and happy means to her.

And she’s so incredibly sorry she hasn’t been better at it.

She and Lexa couldn’t give her the family she deserved, but even after the divorce happened, Clarke feels like she didn’t try hard enough, pushed Lexa enough, for them to be civil and kind and co-parent their kid with mutual respect.

And now Lexa is leaving.

And Clarke is worried about it, of course she is, and she thinks Lexa is making a mistake, that she’s about to hurt Charlie yet again -and she doesn’t know how to reconcile that with the fact their daughter needs to see them be good to each other.

Her vibrating cell-phone shakes her out of her thoughts.

She looks down, and next to her full plate a number she doesn’t recognize flashes on the screen.

Her heart is on her throat.

“One second, honey,” she tells Charlie, who looks up from her nearly empty plate.

“Who is it?” She asks.

She doesn’t answer Charlie.

She’s been waiting to hear from the Sullivan Breast Clinic, and she has a feeling it’s the call she’s been waiting for.

She answers the phone.

“Hello?”

“Miss Griffin, hello.”

Dr.Lowry’s voice on the other end of the line makes her stomach sink. She sits down, because it feels like the rug is being pulled from under her feet, and the woman has barely said three words yet.

Doctors rarely call their patients themselves about lab results. 

No, no, no. _Please._

“I was calling you about your biopsy-”

“Yes?”

“I’m afraid the results have been delayed as I’ve ordered some extra testing, I wanted to call you myself about it. Dr.Watson called me  about your case, and I can assure you we’re-”

“Extra testing?” She doesn’t mean to interrupt, but her voice, her hands, are shaking. “That’s bad, isn't it? It’s… It’s bad. I'm a doctor, if things were right you wouldn't need-”

“Miss Griffin,” Dr.Lowry sounds compassionate. “ _Clarke_. I know what you're thinking, and this is not a confirmation that it's cancer. It’s not. It’s just a delay, and I wanted to call you specifically to address those worries.”

She takes a deep breath, and tries to calm herself down.

“Okay. Of course. Thank- thank you.”

“I wanted to ask you a few questions, as well,” Dr.Lowry says. 

Clarke nods, doesn’t even realize the woman can’t see her.

“Have you noticed any new symptoms since I last saw you?” 

Clarke forces herself to swallow.

“No…Uh, no. Just what we spoke about, the pain and the mass. And even the pain itself has been decreasing.”

“Have you noticed any nipple discharge? Or bleeding?”

A shiver runs through Clarke.

“No…no.”

“Okay. I’m working very closely with our technicians, as soon as I have answers for you I’ll be calling you to schedule an appointment, all right? Maybe in a week or so?”

“Yes, of course. Thank you, Dr.Lowry.”

“It’s no problem,” she says. “Dr.Watson spoke very highly of you, you know? You’ll get through this, you’ll see.”

Clarke thanks her again, and closes the call.

 She‘s not a fan of nepotism, but she’ll take it if it means her current doctor will take a closer look at her case because of who referred her.

Being a teacher’s pet as a resident paid off, it seems.

The doctor’s words do little to assuage her worries, buts she’s at least glad she got the woman herself on the phone, and not some cold technician reading from a script.

She can barely focus.

If it’s cancer…she’ll have to go through chemo. She’s not sure if she’ll always be able to schedule it on the days where Charlie is with Lexa. (She doesn't have cancer. She doesn't know at least.) Charlie will ask. She’s old enough to understand, ‘mama is sick’ isn't going to cut it. 

“Who was it mama?” A little voice asks, and she looks up, heart racing, to find Charlie at the door.

“Just work, baby,” she says, and tries to smile. She stands up on weak legs and brushes Charlie’s hair away from her forehead.

“Are you done?”

“No, but you were taking ages and ages and ages.”

“Sorry,” Clarke tells her, and guides her back to the breakfast island.

Her daughter goes back to eating what’s left in her plate, and Clarke goes back to staring at nothing and thinking.

(It could still be nothing. Another week of waiting might just kill her instead of whatever it is but…it could still be nothing.)

What was that thing…The cat in the hat? 

(No, that’s not it. She’s been reading too many of Charlie’s books)

No. The cat in the box.

Both dead and alive at the same time.

 Back in college, Clarke remembers thinking it was cruel someone would do that and then Lexa (does she even have memories that don’t include her?) had explained that it was just a thought experiment, a paradox.

(”I doubt anyone poisoned a cat for real, you dweeb,” Lexa had said. Clarke had kissed her nose.)

Schrodinger, was that the guy? She feels like that fucking cat. In this moment she’s either sick or she isn't. Both. Neither. All at the same time.

But she cant wait for reality to collapse into one possibility and finally let her know what she’s dealing with.

Charlie deserves better than ever feeling the uncertainty that plagues Clarke. It’s why she did what she did then, and it’s what she does this now.

She calls Lexa.

 

 

* * *

 

  _(February 24th, 2024.)_

_“Don’t do this to Charlie.”_

_Clarke’s pride tastes like bile as it goes down, but she swallows it._

_“We agreed…”_

_“No,” she tells Lexa. “You wanted to go. And I can’t very well tie you to the bed and keep you a prisoner-”_

_“I already feel like a prisoner,” Lexa tells her. “You keep walking on eggshells around me. I need time away from the fights and the pitying looks and-”_

_“I’ve never felt pity, not once!” Clarke’s breathing gets faster, her chest heaves, and she has to force herself to calm down. But it’s so hard. “That’s in your own head, Lexa. I feel the same way you do, can’t you see? We should get through this together! It was my son too!”_

_“It was my body!” Lexa interjects, throws it like a projectile that hits Clarke center-mass. “You can’t understand…you can’t feel the same.”_

_Clarke’s throat feels tight. She misses the baby she was supposed to hold in her arms every day. She packed up the nursery. How can Lexa think she doesn’t feel that loss? It makes her see red._

_“So if we lost Charlie it would hurt you less than me?” she asks, angrily, bitterly. “Because it was my body who carried her?”_

_Lexa looks as though she hit her._

_“How dare you?”_

_“That’s what you’re saying, Lexa. Or does your logic only apply when it’s a miscarriage? It didn’t happen in my body so I have no right to be sad, I don’t get to grieve-”_

_“That’s not what I said,” Lexa tells her._

_Clarke’s eyes burn almost as much as her chest._

_“Oh, I’m sorry. I get to be sad just not as much as you.” She’s bitter. “I get to grieve but I don’t get to stop cooking or cleaning or looking after Charlie. I get to cry but only when no one’s looking.” She’s breathing harsh and fast, but she can’t stop now. She’s never said it out loud. It’s cathartic. “I get to be mad but I don’t get leave!”_

_A sob rips its way out of her chest. Now that it’s out there, she can’t possibly hide it any longer, the way she’s been feeling. Like she doesn’t matter, like her feelings are worthless. And the worst part is…she’s started to believe it._

_“I felt…guilty…for grieving our baby,” she whispers to Lexa, the wretched, raw words crawling out of her raw throat._

_Lexa looks at her, but she doesn’t step forward. She doesn’t drop her bag. She doesn’t say anything, except for one thing._

_“Then I guess this will be a good thing for both of us.”_

_And she leaves._

 

* * *

 

 

 

Clarke folds the last of the plaid dresses, neatly putting them in a stack at the bottom of Charlie’s bed. Lexa puts the plaid pants beside them. 

Lexa brought over the uniforms like Clarke asked her too. 

Clarke brings the school books out of the plastic bag she kept them in. (If she’d left them laying around Charlie would have already started filling them out, and that’s forbidden.)

They’d always gotten Charlie’s things ready for school together, folded her uniforms and put together her backpack for her first day, and Clarke thought it would be a good way to start.

She knows they need to talk. She knows she needs to tell her about things,  about the tests and the worries that have been eating at her, because Lexa needs to be there for Charlie should anything happen to her. 

But she can’t speak just yet. So she takes the books out.

“Did you get the curriculum for this year?” Lexa asks her, grabbing the Spanish workbook. 

“Oh, yes,” she says. They’ve been quiet so far, and after a quick hug to her mom Charlie had stayed on the living room, too, oddly quiet. At least it’s not a fight. “Have you-”

Lexa shakes her head.

“I…with the new job and-”

“Oh. Yeah.”

She doesn’t look up at Lexa. Not yet. She takes a deep breath and throws all other thoughts out of her head. Before, she would have called her selfish. Berated her for not caring enough. Now, she cannot afford to do that.

“I haven't had time, I was-”

“It’s fine,” she tells Lexa. “I actually have a copy somewhere…” She gets it from Charlie’s top shelf. “It’s amazing,” she tells Lexa.

Lexa grabs the piece of paper from her hands, and their fingers touch, for only a second. It’s enough to make Clarke jump. 

Lexa reads, and Clarke sits down again. 

It’s been so incredibly long since the last time they did this.

“Exploration of students’ family histories…” Lexa read out loud from the curriculum. “Indigenous culture of Eastern Woodland Native Americans; leaders in the civil rights movement and the influence of jazz, art and poetry as unifying forces in American society…” Lexa’s eyebrows raise. “Wow.”

“I know,” Clarke snorts.

“It’s really great though. I wish they taught this everywhere,” Lexa says.  “‘Exploration of student’s families,” Lexa continues reading. “You think she’ll cut pictures of us and do a family tree like we did in public school?”

Clarke finds herself smiling.

“Eh…I’m sure she’ll do a snazzy version of that.”

Lexa laughs, and Clarke can’t help but do the same.

 When they focus on Charlie, it’s so easy to put their differences aside. It’s so easy to…to forget. But she can’t forget that it’s been more than a year since they’ve genuinely laughed together, however short it was.

“What ‘chu laughing about?” a shrill little voice asks, and they both look up to see Charlie staring at them from door.

“Just how great your school is gonna be this year,” Clarke tells her. Are you ready?”

“Hmmh.” Charlie nods, and then flings herself on the bed. “Can I see my books?”

“Sure,” Lexa tells her. 

“Just no-” Clarke and Lexa say at the same time.

Lexa closes her mouth.

“Just no writing on them yet, okay?” Clarke tells her. Charlie nods, and grabs the one Lexa was seeing.

She escapes to the living room not long after, so Clarke gets a feeling they’re going to be buying a new book before the school year begins next week.

“She’s going to write on it,” Lexa tells her.

Clarke simply nods.

They both smile, amused, and it’s…easy.

“Creative writing,” Lexa reads. “Introduction to free-form poetry.” Lexa looks up and meets her eyes. “She’s 7,” Lexa says, deadpan.

“We’re cashing out every month Lexa, they better turn her into Hemingway,” she jokes.  She realizes just how close they were left sitting together after Charlie left. Lexa smiles. It makes Clarke feel good, and she can’t begin to deconstruct that. It almost feels like before, like no time has passed at all.

But she can’t forget the reason she’s trying so hard for them to get along, the reason she called Lexa. She needs to tell her.

“Spanish, oh they’re starting French this year.”

“Yeah,” Clarke tells her, still thinking about all the things unsaid.

“I’m sorry,” Lexa says suddenly. “I should’ve read this before-”

“I only got around to it yesterday, you’re fine,” she tells Lexa. She must have misunderstood her tone, but Clarke can’t blame her. She honestly cannot remember the last time they said things to each other that weren’t holding a double meaning, a hidden dagger, words that were just words.

“You’ve been busy, too?” Lexa asks, and it seems like an attempt at polite conversation. Clarke takes it.  Her heart races.

Tell her. _Tell her._  

“Work’s been…yeah.”

She can do it later. After dinner. After Charlie has gone to bed.

“Oh, are they…are they short-staffed again?”

Clarke shakes her head. She hasn’t thought about her job in a while, she’s been doing the most mechanical shit lately, but she tries to be truthful.

“They’ve actually had an influx of residents and…I get that I was one of them not so long ago, but…shit.”

It’s the first time she can remember that she’s cursed in front of Lexa without it being an insult, or in anger.

Lexa nods. She almost smiles, almost.

Clarke tries, too. After it was a joke of sort about her work.

But neither of them do.

Things seem different when it’s not about Charlie.

“They’re, huh…they’re starting jazz too this year,” Clarke mentions, pointing to the curriculum, circling things back to what they have in common. Charlie had been ecstatic about that, especially since she already had an advantage. “And modern dance. I told Charlie I didn't know for the life of me how they’re any different and she gave me the stink eye.”

Lexa smiles.

“One gymnastics, one dance and three physical education classes each week,” Lexa keeps reading out loud, and then hums. She always did that when she wanted to process information faster. In college, Clarke had found it helpful for the classes they shared, and annoying for the classes they didn’t, because Lexa didn’t know how to revise quietly. It’s almost a comfort, that she still does it to this day.

All those PE and dance classes would have ended Clarke’s life as a comfortably chubby 7 year old, but her daughter absolutely loves it. She takes so much after Lexa that way. She wonders if Charlie will read out loud, too, when she has to revise for exams. She guesses she’ll find out this year, when they start giving the kids real tests. 

(It’s a terrifying thought to think she might not be around to witness it. It chills Clarke’s blood.)

Lexa’s voice breaks her out of her thoughts.

“Modern dance is done barefoot, I know that much,” Lexa says. “It’s different from what she does.”

“So you're not any better than me,” Clarke tells her.

“Is this the year she becomes smarter than us?” Lexa asks, and Clarke looks out the door, even though she can’t see Charlie from where she’s sitting. What she can see however is a forgotten plastic car jammed between the door and the hinges.

She turns toward Lexa.

“I think we’ve got a ways to go.”

 

 

* * *

 

_(April 20th, 2024.)_

_She can’t cry in front of her daughter._

_“I want mommy back,” Charlie says, crossing her arms and kicking her legs so they bounce against the couch._

_Clarke doesn’t know how to answer._

_She doesn’t know how much longer she can field Charlie’s questions, distract her or redirect them, and it makes her heart feel like it’s about to burst._

_“Soon, baby,” she tells her daughter, though with each passing day, week, month that Lexa doesn’t come back and doesn’t reach out, the more and more it begins to feel like a lie. “Your mommies just needed some time apart, okay. But we love you so, so much. It’ll be over soon.”_

_Charlie looks at her, and nods._

_It holds her off until dinner._

_“When is mommy coming back?”_

_Clarke stops stirring the soup, and goes to get plates only for Charlie to hand her her favorite bowl, an expectant look on her face. Clarke grabs it and puts it down._

_And suddenly she can’t stall._

_“That sounds like something you need to ask your mommy,” Clarke says, wondering if its the right answer. She’s not placing blame on Lexa in front of Charlie, she’s not calling her names. She read enough sites and talked to enough hotlines that she knows that’s not the right thing to do. But she can’t tell Charlie something that she doesn't know. That would be worse._

_Charlie shakes her head at the suggestion._

_“When I ask mommy she gets sad at me. Her face go like this.” Charlie pulls both her cheeks down, distorting her face into a caricaturesque grimace._

_“Stop that,” Clarke says, chuckling lightly and pulling Charlie’s hands away from her face. Charlie looks up at her, waiting, hopeful._

_It’s going to kill Clarke one of these days. She has no idea what it’ll do to her precious baby._

_“I’m sorry, Charlie. I don’t have an answer.”_

_“But mama, you know everything.”_

_Clarke smiles sadly._

_“Not this, baby.” She cups Charlie’s cheek. “Not this.”_

 

* * *

 

 

Charlie is happy to go to bed for the first Clarke can remember.

Charlie is good about it most days, but that doesn’t mean she often doesn’t stay awake, reading or coloring in bed until she falls asleep, or asks for three consecutive glasses of water to put bedtime off.

She goes willingly now, puts her head on her pillow and smiles.

“Can I have a story?” Charlie asks.

She and Lexa look at each other.

“Do you want mommy or-”

“Both,” Charlie says right away.

Clarke nods.

“Which one?” Lexa asks. 

“Harry Potter,” Charlie says. Clarke gets the book from her desk. Charlie is almost halfway through it, and Clarke opens it where the hand-made bookmark is.

They sit down on Charlie’s bed, on opposite sides.

She passes the book to Lexa.

It feels almost normal, now, after Lexa has been around the whole day. She realizes this is the longest amount of time they’ve spent together since Lexa left so long ago, and they have yet to start a fight.

Lexa begins to read. Clarke listens intently to the rise and fall of her voice, the way she pronounces the spells. It almost feels like nothing happened to them at all.

Two pages later, she passes the book to Clarke.

Charlie’s head flops to the other side on the pillow, a content look on her face as she listens to her read. It reassures her she made the right decision. Note three pages have gone by when Charlie’s breath evens out with sleep.

Clarke’s heart begins to pound.

She can’t keep putting off the inevitable, and she knows the minute she steps out of this room she’ll have to tell Lexa what’s going on. It truly begins to feel like old times again. She remembers how Charlie’s room was a sanctuary of sorts, how regardless of how bad things got between them, they would still put their daughter to bed together and control themselves in front of her. They never fought inside Clarke’s room. These walls never witnessed a single hurtful word.

And Clarke has to step outside.

Lexa turns the light off after her, and though she’s suddenly standing on the open hallway air doesn’t come any easier.

She needs to tell Lexa.

She takes a deep breath. 

“Lex-”

“Clarke-”

“I’m sorry, go on,” she tells Lexa. Lexa smiles stiffly.

“I just wanted us to...sit down and talk. Do you think we can do that?”

Clarke nods. She can wait.

They sit down at the living room table, and Lexa pulls out her cell phone.

“This…uh, this is the apartment I’ve been looking at in Philly.”

Lexa hands her the phone, and Clarke takes it, dumbfounded.

“It’s 2 hours 23 minutes away, or so google maps says,” Lexa offers. “It’s close to my work too, 15 minutes if there’s no traffic.” Lexa grabs her phone back for a minute, before pushing it in Clarke’s hands again.

“Polis Corporation. An in-house position opened in their legal department. They just called me out of the blue, I wasn’t really looking - I’d applied, before. I never told you.”

Clarke swallows. 

“When?”

“Before I moved out.” Lexa doesn’t meet her eyes.

Clarke nods. She hands Lexa’s cell phone back. She thought she didn’t have it in her anymore to feel betrayed by Lexa. She was wrong.

 Even if it’s been over a year, it’s hard to hear that while she was actively working for them to stay together, while she was trying as hard as she could to fix things, Lexa was already thinking of leaving.

“It’s like an hour and a half from my apartment to Charlie’s school,” Lexa says. “I really don’t have a problem driving her every day.”

“We said we were going to try letting her take the bus when she’s a bit older,” Clarke tells her. They wanted her to have a bit of the school experience, to be more independent. They’d decided that she should get to ride on the bus with her friends.

“I think we can figure out something in a few years,” Lexa says. “I…I don’t have all the answers yet.” Lexa sounds painfully honest, and it’s the first thing she’s said that Clarke understands. It’s been so long since they were honest with each other. 

She doesn’t have all the answers either.

Acknowledging that means being vulnerable, and it’s been months since they were vulnerable in front of each other. But Lexa is taking that first step. Clarke accepts it. 

“But for now, her life doesn’t have to change so drastically,” Lexa tells her. “She’ll have a week with you and a week with me. We’ll divide up the birthdays and the anniversaries like we’ve been doing. And I’ll call.” Lexa looks up to her. “I’ll…I’ll be more involved than before. I’ll talk to you. I’ll text. I know…I know I haven’t done that as much as I should have, but things will be different.”

Clarke nods.

She almost doesn’t know what to do with this Lexa.

She knows how to navigate their arguments, how to shoulder on the damage and cause some back, but this…? She can’t do anything but accept it, feel it seep in. 

“She was so hurt the last time, Lexa,” she tells her, and forces herself to keep a handle on her emotions. Every single question, every single tear, Clarke was there for it. Charlie can’t go through that again.

“And I hate myself for it,” Lexa tells her. Clarke’s breath stutters. (And a dark, dark part of her is glad to hear it.)

She looks up at Lexa.

She’s never heard such regret in her voice before.

“I made a mistake. I know that. I hurt our baby. That’s on me. And I’m sorry.”

Clarke nods. She looks to the ceiling so the water invading her eyes doesn’t fall.

“But this isn’t like that. I can send you the company’s direction,” Lexa offers. “We can drive to Philly with Charlie a few times before I move, just to get her used to the city. And when I sign the lease, the three of us can see the new apartment.”

Clarke almost gasps. She tries not to let shock show on her face..

She hasn’t been involved in Lexa’s life since she left. 

That first time, when Lexa left, Clarke stayed home when Lexa took Charlie to see her new place. And then they would drop her off at each other’s homes without ever looking each other in the eyes or sometimes meeting face to face. (She would send Charlie up in the elevator, Clarke remembers, and shame burns her.)

 Clarke realizes now they hurt their daughter when their marriage failed, but they hurt her just as much by breaking ties so completely after it was done.

But Lexa is waving an olive branch, she can see that. She’s giving her a chance to be a part of it all. She’s doing what Clarke had wished had happened the first time she left. Their marriage didn’t work, but they could be good mother still, and so far they’ve been doing a shitty job. That’s not only on Lexa. Lexa might have been the first to put the distance between them, but Clarke could have tried to bridge it after the papers were signed. She didn’t. She wanted to cut Lexa out. That’s on her. 

But she can’t cut her. They’re connected, forever. Even if she’s still angry, still hurt, still doesn’t understand why it all went wrong. They can still be good moms. For Charlie, she can still be a good mama. It’s not too late, and she has to work with Lexa to achieve that. 

Her ex-wife is building a bridge where Clarke thought she was trying to burn them.

So she nods.

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

_(May 1st, 2024.)_

_The music is so loud Clarke can feel it in her bones._

_Her dress is tight, drops of sweat roll down between her breasts, the fake smoke gets in her throat, and everything smells like sweat._

_But Octavia and Raven were adamant this is what Clarke needed._

_Apparently there’s only so long she can watch the cooking channel or go into her shed to paint before her friends become overly concerned._

_It goes well for the first 30 minutes, until Raven and O go to get drinks at the bar, leaving Clarke alone at their corner table. A man approaches her, some guy that looks entirely too young to be hitting on her. He’s probably in college, for crying out loud._

_She recognizes that smile the minute he steps up to her, and she shuts him down before he can get a word out._

_“I’m married!” She yells, over the strident music._

_“I don’t see a ring!” He fires back._

_“Back off, my dude,” Raven says, tapping him on the shoulder with her free hand, the other, laden with two shots._

_He does._

_But still, saying ‘I’m married’ had felt like a lie._

_She’s quiet for the rest of the night. She can tell her friends notice. But it’s only later, when she’s changed into her pajamas and Octavia has broken out the ice cream like they were still in college, that they bring up the elephant in the room._

_“Clarke…”_

_Clarke recognizes that tone of voice. She shakes her head._

_“She’s my wife,” she says._

_“It’s been 4 months,” Raven tells her. Clarke doesn’t need to hear it. She feels every day. “Do you…I mean, do you think she’s coming back? I’m sorry, but…”_

_“We know it’s something you’ve been thinking about,” Octavia finishes._

_Clarke slumps down on the couch, shoulder to shoulder with her friends. It almost feels like college. But back then she didn’t have a job or a kid or a estranged wife._

_She sighs._

_“I don’t know. And I’m…I’m so angry. But I hope so. I want her to. I need- she’s my wife.” She shrugs. “Charlie asks me all the time, you know?” She tells Raven and Octavia. “‘When is mommy coming home?’ She says she can’t ask Lexa because she gets sad whenever she does. How selfish is that?” Clarke sits up, leave her tub of ice cream on the coffee table. “Why does  our 6 year old have to worry about that? I lost my baby too.  Why does Lexa get to be the one who doesn't have to answer all those fucking questions?!”_

_Octavia’s arms are around her before the first tear falls. Her friend pulls her into her arms, and then Raven is rubbing her back._

_She lets a few tears escape. She doesn’t know how to break down any way but quietly after so many months of hiding her feelings._

_Maybe Raven’s question is what she needed to hear. Maybe this is how Lexa leaves her. Without mercy or the benefit of closure._

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Clarke knows as soon as she wakes.

It’s always a heavy week.

Charlie starts school in a few days, the 11th, but two days after that it’s another anniversary of the worst day of her life.

She didn’t tell Lexa last night. Things just keep piling up.

“Mama?”

Clarke finishes packing the dance tights.

“Yes? Are you done?”

“You should have waked me up yesterday,” Charlie tells her.

“What are you talking about?” Clarke asks her, checking her mental list to make sure she hasn’t missed anything. “And ‘waked’ isn’t right.”

“While mommy was here,” Charlie clarifies. “I shouldn’t have bedtime.”

Clarke stands up straight. She almost laughs.

“Yes, you do have a bedtime, always, because I say so. Now, are you ready? Anything else you want to take to your mom’s?”

Charlie shakes her head. Clarke grabs her dance bag and her regular duffel bag, and leads the way to the front door. Charlie trails after her, stomping her feet. Clarke knows it’s purely for her benefit, so she knows she’s displeased her little monster.

“It’s not fair,” Charlie tells her, grumbling. 

Clarke just buckles her into her car seat.

“Mommy and you are never nice to each other, I should get to stay awake when you are!”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” Charlie says right away, and Clarke waves her concern away. She schools her features in what she hopes is a smile.

She remembers the photo she found, the photo still tucked inside a pocket in Charlie’s bag. Last night was a step in the right direction. And she’ll make sure it’s the norm now, that her daughter doesn’t think she has to stay awake to witness it. It won’t be a rare sight anymore.

“Charlie, your mommy and I are going to be nice to each other all the time now,” she tells her, cupping her cheeks.

Charlie looks at her with doubt, instead of the instant brightness Clarke expects. 

“Promise?”

“I promise.” And she seals it with a kiss to her forehead.

It wasn’t difficult, talking to Lexa the night before. Once she let go of the resentment it was like no time had passed at all. That was even scarier than anything she’d anticipated. It brought up things she didn’t want to think about. Couldn’t, think about.

She drives to Lexa’s apartment, the silence filled by Charlie singing along to the radio. 

Clarke is too busy wondering.

What good would it do to tell Lexa she might be sick?

She knows for Charlie’s sake that Lexa needs to know, that she’ll need help if she has to face any sort of treatment. But she’s not sure of anything yet.

And what if Lexa takes it as a reason to stay? 

She stops at a red light.  

She doesn’t like that Lexa’s leaving. She’s accepted it, but she doesn’t approve. It’ll make things ever harder if she has…if she’s sick; she doesn’t know if she could have Charlie as many weeks as she’s supposed to, if she could shelter her. It’s all for Charlie’s sake. But she doesn’t know. Not yet. And she can’t believe she’s thinking about it in those terms.

Lexa can leave if she wants to.

 

 

 

Clarke pulls up to Lexa’s apartment complex, the usually crowded parking lot empty enough that she can park.

Either way, Lexa is waiting for them downstairs. That’s different.

“Hi mommy!” Charlie waves at Lexa through the window. Clarke gets out of the car, and helps Charlie with her things.

Charlie gives Lexa a quick hug when she gets there, and then speeds toward the elevator.

“Hey,” she tells Lexa, and passes her Charlie’s bags.  Wildly, ridiculously, she wants to tell Lexa about the photo. But that wouldn’t serve a purpose. How would that conversation even go? Hey, I found out our kid carries a picture of the three of us in her bag at all times, I’m worried we fucked things up permanently and she grows up to hate use for taking that from her, oh and by the way, I don’t know who took that photo and printed it for her, though I have my suspicions that it was one our friend’s kids.

Pointless. They might be civil, but they’re not there yet.

 Charlie bounces on her toes, waiting for the elevator to come down.

“For her first day of school,” Lexa starts. “I know it’s your day but I thought I could meet you there-”

“Actually, why don’t you come over?” Clarke offers. “We could help her get ready together-”

“Okay, yeah. That’s- yes. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

There’s a lull in the conversation. Clarke thinks maybe they’re out of practice navigating talks that don’t revolve around problems.

“Hey, um -How are you holding up?”

It’s out of her mouth before she even realizes she’s going to ask her that. 

She’s not one to bring it up, ever. They haven’t talked about it, not since Lexa moved out, and they hardly did before that. She doesn’t mention it. And yet.

She’ll never know why she tries to sabotage herself.

“It’s…it’s right around the corner,” Clarke says.

Lexa doesn’t look at her. 

Her eyes are on Charlie, who’s inspecting the sad looking plant on the corner.

“I’m…I’m dealing,” Lexa says. Clarke doesn’t even have time to look up at her when the next words are leaving her lips. “I’ve got to go.” She heads to the elevator, and the sight of her back is a familiar one for Clarke.

Lexa always did run. 

“Char, says goodbye to your mom.”

Clarke has time to give Charlie a hug before the elevator arrives, and they go up.

 

 

 

She doesn’t drive back to the house.

She knows it’s been some time since she last cleaned and she should get on that. Or maybe she could call the hospital and ask if they have any extra shifts they want her to take, but she doesn’t do that either.

Instead, she drives to her mom’s.

It’s a leftover feeling from high-school, knowing that she’s mad at her and with good reason, but not being able to feel right until they talk. She hasn’t grown out it. Even if unlike her 15 year old self, she has managed to put this conversation off for too long.

Almost two years too long.

She pulls up to the driveway.

Her mom is outside, tending the garden.

Her dad had gotten it into himself to make one, just a few months before he passed, and her mom had finished it. And though she’d never had much of a green thumb, she still kept the garden alive, and made a new one when she and Kane moved into this house. Clarke thinks of the  chrysanthemums  in her own backyard. Maybe her mom and she aren’t so different.

She gets out of the car.

“Clarke.” Her mom looks up at her, covers her eyes against the sun. There’s a moment of silence, a recognition of the ignored called and the tension the last time they spoke. But her mom doesn’t call her out. “Want to help?” she asks.

Clarke nods.

It’s a little ridiculous, kneeling in her jeans on her mom’s front lawn in the middle of the day, but she puts on a pair of gloves and helps her mom pluck out the weed.

It’s mindless work.

Tough. Her hand’s aren’t used to it.

Clarke is used to moving her fingers with practiced delicacy, to handling scalpels and forceps, to knowing that too far, too strong, too fast, could mean someone would lose their live.

This is nothing like that. There’s something calming about letting her hands be strong, rough. Angry.

It feels like exactly what Clarke needed.

She’s almost disappointed when she realizes they’re done. There’s nothing else to do, and Clarke looks up to find the world is as she left it. Things piling up. She follows her mom inside the house.

She washes her hands in the kitchen sink.

She sits down while her mom walks around, putting things away and pulling out food for lunch. Clarke watches while she re-heats some pasta, and all the while she’s wondering, thinking.

“Why were you always on her side?”

Her mom drops the spoon. 

She picks it up quickly and leaves it on the sink, and then lets the pasta heating up. She sits down next to Clarke.

It’s a question Clarke hasn’t asked before, or, at least, asked meaning to get an answer. On her worst days she’d been unwilling to hear an answer, but those days are past.

Clarke shakes her head.

“She left me, and for so long I hated her for it…but you never did. Why?”

She knew her mom kept in touch with Lexa, that she spoke to her then estranged wife more than Clarke herself did. Her mother’s calls didn’t go unanswered like Clarke’s own. Clarke would bet her texts didn’t go ignored. 

She used to -as much as it makes her feel ashamed- resent her mom for it.

Her mom shrugs slowly, the way she used to do when Clarke was in high school and she said no to a party. The shrug that meant ‘it is what it is’.

“Lexa…I guess I just know how she felt.”

Clarke’s stomach sinks. 

She swears she can feel it hit her toes, cold and heavy.

"Mom.” She doesn’t mean for her voice to thin out the way it does. “Mom, did you ever have a -”

“No,” her mom says. “Not like Lexa. It was…before you were born.”

“Mom.” She doesn’t know what to say. She settles for leaning against her mom in a show of gentle support.

Her mom takes a deep breath. 

“When your dad and I were just out of college…I was late. And then I was nauseous, and couldn't stand the smell of his cologne…I was in med school, I knew to take a pregnancy test. So I did. And it came back positive.”

“Oh my god, mom.” Clarke sinks back into the chair. 

She never…she never knew. And it’s so strange, so alien to think about. Her mother, pregnant with a child that wasn’t her. She was supposed to have a sibling? It’s mind boggling, and for a second Clarke can’t breathe. Her heart aches for her mom.

Clarke clasps her hands around her own. Her mom smiles, the expression softening the lines around her eyes.

“I was young and unprepared,” her mom tells her. “But I loved your father more than anything. And we’d been so…excited, after the initial fear. Would it be a boy or a girl, what name would we pick. Your dad even started talking about searching for a better paying job, even if it meant leaving the one he really liked.” 

Her mom shrugged again, and Clarke could see in her eyes that her mind was somewhere very far away. And that place -wherever it was- was full of sadness. 

“And then, not two weeks later, I started having some pain. So we went to the doctor a few weeks before we were supposed to for our first appointment.” She tightens her mouth in a line. “It was an ectopic pregnancy.”

“Oh, mom.”

Clarke rests her head on her shoulder, feeling so much closer to her mother, bonding over an experience that no woman should ever have to go through. Both she and her mom had lost…that hope. A child, either a baby or the possibility of it, and it hurt. But still, suddenly she didn’t feel so alone.

“Part of me was…relieved, I have to admit, at least a little,” her mom says. “I was just starting med-school, I had years and years of studies ahead. But the biggest part of me was just so…disappointed. It took only two weeks for your dad to make it a habit to kiss my stomach before he left for work, and for me to imagine how the baby would look. And then there was no baby. It was so early they just gave me a shot to terminate the pregnancy, and we went home an hour later.” Her mom finally looks at her, an unfamiliar sheen over her eyes. “It all happened in less than a month and me and your dad were wrecked for a while.” 

Clarke squeezes her hand.

“And then I had to focus on school, and he got promoted, and life carried on. It made it easier, knowing that the baby could have never developed. But it was still hard. But…we moved on. And years later, when we were ready, we started trying.” Her mom turns around on her seat, and cups Clarke’s cheek in her hand. “And we had you. And you were the greatest gift I could have ever asked for.”

Clarke wipes the tears from her cheeks. Her mother does the same.

“But still, while the nurses were cleaning you, I couldn't help but think about that pregnancy, even if I hadn't in years. I couldn't help wondering.” Her mom sits back, and that’s what brings Clarke back to her original question. “When Lexa miscarried. I felt for her, so much. You’d both been trying so hard. And you’d been waiting for months already for that child. My heart broke when I got there, and found her sitting on the floor, holding her stomach.”

Clarke shudders. 

It’s visceral, the way it runs through her body. Sorrow is sharp.

“You never told me how you found her,” she says quietly.

“You never asked.”

Clarke bites her lip, and looks away. Shame hangs heavy over her head.

“I don’t think I could have heard it, back then,” she confesses.

Her mom squeezes her hand.

“She was really brave,” she tells her.

Clarke nods, but she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t think she could, with the lump stuck in her throat.

“It’s nothing but a memory now,” her mom says. “It happened…God, almost 35 years ago. But Lexa’s miscarriage brought it all back. I remembered how it felt, seeing your dad’s face and feeling like my body had screwed up something that was so simple. Basic biology. And I felt for Lexa. I don't agree with what she did. I’d hoped she’d come to lean on you like I leaned on your father, but I couldn't abandon her. She’s my daughter, too, you know,” her mom tells her, nudging Clarke’s side with her knuckles. “Whether you’re married or not. I took that child in when you brought her over that first thanksgiving, and I wasn't about to leave her now.”

Clarke swallows, hard. Her mouth feels thick, her whole body feels heavy. She’d never seen things that way.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” she tells her, voice coarse. “Thank you mom.”

She doesn’t know who starts it, but suddenly their arms are around each other in a hug that feels overdue. 

She sniffs after a minute, wiping her cheeks and pulling away.

“I can’t…I still can’t understand how you could love her more than I did.” She feels for that Lexa, 2 years ago. She wishes she’d done more. 

She can't imagine what her mom went through, and though she was there...she can't imagine what Lexa went through, either. Scared and alone, in pain. Maybe there was more there that words could ever fix, or could ever help her understand, even if Lexa had wanted to talk to her.

“I didn’t,” her mom says. “I don’t think anyone could love Lexa like you do.” 

She notices how her mom doesn't put it in a past tense. Clarke realizes then she hasn’t either.

“And I know you're not asking, but honey,” her mom grabs her cheek. “I love you more than anything or anyone in this world.  You’re my daughter, Clarke.”

Clarke nods through the tears clouding her vision again. She wants to bask in the words. She wants to take advantage of them, to tell her what’s worrying her. But she doesn’t want to cause her pain if it’s unnecessary, doesn’t want to be a burden. She’s not a child anymore. 

So all she says is one thing.

“I love you, mom.”

 

 

The streets are empty when she drives back to the house.

House, not home. 

She stopped calling it that the day Lexa left, even if the structure hasn’t changed, even if she hasn’t changed the color of the walls.

She couldn’t make Lexa stay back then. She couldn’t do it then for herself and Charlie, and she can’t do it now, now that Lexa is leaving again. She can’t keep her from going for Charlie’s sake. 

Except maybe it’s not just for Charlie’s sake.

Charlie needs her mom, of course she does, and if Clarke’s sick she’ll need her more than ever. 

But Clarke’s scared too. She knows that. But she’s just beginning to realize the one thing that scares her the most. 

For so long, her support system was Lexa. She'd been so used to it. For so long…she's loved Lexa.

She’s loved her and resented her and been angry at her and been incredibly happy by her side -even in those moments she felt she hated Lexa, the depth of those feelings only came from the inability to help her, the frustration of being pushed aside.

She realizes now, she could never hate Lexa.

Even more, she could never stop loving her.

She hasn’t, even now. And she’s scared. And she doesn’t want Lexa to leave, not just for her daughter, but for herself. 

Charlie would adapt. Her heart is too big, she’s too smart not to. Their daughter is still plastic, and if they work together she  thinks Lexa’s plan could work, they could give her a good life.

 Clarke’s not like her daughter. She’s lived over three decades and she’s set on her ways. And her body, her heart, her very soul, needs Lexa nearby. She always has. She’s never wanted anyone else to hold her hand.

It’s why she held on so fiercely after the miscarriage ripped them apart. It’s why she fought so hard, and why once Lexa left, she exploded and rejected her so harshly. Lexa feels like shrapnel, deeply embedded within her. 

A permanent wound, open, bleeding. But she’s sure if the pieces were to be removed she’d die.

She’s seen it in the OR, many times. How a wound looks worse than it is when someone is impaled, sharp objects lodged in their flesh. When the foreign object is removed too fast, the patient goes into shock and dies.

Too many changes, all at once. She might be sick, really sick, and Lexa is leaving. Too fast.

She’s scared. She’s terrified, and she wants her wife. (Ex-wife, she has to correct herself.) Regardless of all the hurt, despite the shrapnel. 

She’d take the pain over nothing at all.

Charlie would be okay. In fact, Charlie could probably thrive if Lexa was happier, if she was away from everyone and rebuilt her life.  But would she be?

 Clarke read an article once about a man who lived 23 years with a bullet lodged in his brain. 

She’s been living the past year next to Lexa, having her on the fringes of her vision but never closer. After the miscarriage, she tried to be understanding, kind, calm, she worked herself to the bone to try and take the pain away, to keep them together, to keep the hurt out of their daughter’s eyes. 

And after the divorce, she was polite when she could be and hurtful when she couldn’t, resenting, hurting, close to forgiving and then blaming, her. Her. It always goes back to her. Lexa is the bullet.

 And she would rather carry on living like this than seeing her go.

And that means only one thing.

 

 

 

Charlie runs around the house, half of her hair down her back while the other is in a high ponytail, her uniform slightly crumpled (Clarke winces the worse it gets) and only her right shoe on. 

She races down the stairs.

Lexa follows after her.

“Her hair-”

“I’m on it!” She tells Lexa, running after Charlie with a hair band on her wrist. She catches up to her as her daughter sticks yet another glittery, scented pen into her school bag.

“I thought we said we’d only take a few,” she tells Charlie.

“That’s a few,” Charlie insists, closing the zipper of the bag.

Clarke shakes her head. 

“Come here.”

She sits down on the couch and pulls Charlie on her lap, gathering the other half of her hair into a ponytail. 

Lexa walks down the stairs then, Charlie’s other shoe in hand. She kneels in front of Clarke, and puts the shiny black hindrance on Charlie’s wriggling, socked little foot.

“All done,” Clarke tells Charlie, pressing a kiss to her head.

Lexa finishes securing the velcro straps.

“We’re good here.” Lexa looks up at Charlie, hands on her bouncing knees. Their position gives Clarke the unique advantage of seeing Lexa’s face when she talks to their daughter. Her eyes are a lake this morning. “You’re ready,” Lexa tells Charlie.

Charlie jumps out of Clarke’s lap.

“No, I forgot something!” she yells, and races back up the stairs.

 

 

 

Clarke drives to school.

There’s no traffic until they get close to the building, another benefit of a smaller private school, that starts classes weeks earlier than most everyone else in the state.

There’s something different in the air this morning. New beginnings had always felt like a cruel joke to Clarke after the miscarriage, but Charlie’s first day of second grade does feel like it’s marking a new start.

Charlie waits for them to unbuckle her this time, odd in itself. And then she and Lexa walk up the stairs of the old brick building holding Charlie’s hands.

“There’s the principal,” Lexa tells Clarke quietly, nodding towards a corner. 

Clarke never understood Lexa’s obsession to speaking to Charlie’s teachers before the start of the year, or personally saying hello to the principal, a stern, graying woman, so she simply nods.

Lexa breaks away from them to shake the old woman’s hand, and it gives Clarke time to kneel down to Charlie’s height and say her goodbyes.

“Learn lots of new things, okay?” She asks Charlie, fixing the collar of her crisp white shirt. “And listen to your teachers.”

“Or let’s go home,” Charlie says. “I can be in second grade tomorrow.”

Clarke frowns.

“What’s wrong? Are you nervous?” she asks, patting Charlie’s belly. 

Charlie shakes her head.

“I just don’t wanna today.”

Clarke smiles at her little girl. 

“It’ll be fine. You’ve done this before, remember?”

“Who’s picking me up?” Charlie asks, ignoring her words. For the first time her voice is as small as she is.

“I am,” Clarke tells her, and then thinks better of it. “Maybe mommy can come too, if she doesn’t have work. How about that?”

“And- and we can go get ice-cream?”

Clarke smiles.

“Of course. Now, are you still nervous?”

Charlie shakes her head. Clarke gets the feeling her daughter was feeling nervous about an entirely different matter than school. Sometimes it feels like things, especially good things, can disappears if one doesn’t keep an eye on them.

“Snuggles?” she asks Charlie, and then has to balance herself with a hand on the floor when Charlie launches herself in her arms. Clarke laughs, and hugs her back tightly. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too, mama.”

“Have a nice first day, okay?”

Charlie nods, and Clarke sends her over to Lexa whose just coming back from her impromptu meeting with the principal.

She doesn’t hear most of what they say. Lexa kneels down just like she did and finishes straightening out the skirt of  Charlie’s tartan dress. 

Clarke smiles when Lexa rains down kisses over Charlie’s face, bringing out loud laughter that attracts the stares of a few parents and children in the lobby. The one of Charlie’s friends arrives, and their daughter isn’t as concerned with them.

Lexa arrives at her side while they watch Charlie speak to the other little girl. 

“She’s going to hate us when she realizes she starts school two weeks before everyone else,” Lexa tells her. Clarke chuckles.

She holds Charlie’s bright purple backpack in her hands, light with the weight of a single notebook and still far too many scented pens for the first day of class.  Lexa had brought the backpack around in the morning, when Charlie decided she needed that one instead of the green one she had prepared already. Clarke watches Lexa watch Charlie.

She assumes the expression on her face is the same one in her own.

“Lexa?” she calls out to her softly. “I know you wouldn't have left her.”

Lexa swallows.

“Do you?”

“I do now. I guess I just…forgot.” 

Charlie comes running back to get her backpack. Clarke helps her put it on, and she has to laugh at how big it seems.

The principal rings her little bell, and all the girls scatter and begin to form lines. 

Charlie throws her arms as far as they’ll go, and hugs both of them at the same time.

“I love you lots,” Charlie tells them, looking up at them with a bright smile. The principal rings her bell again, and Charlie runs over to the girls in her class.

They both wave goodbye at her as Charlie goes in.

 

 

 

The ride home isn’t quiet.

It’s not awkward like she expected, to share a car without Charlie chattering away in the back seat. It does bring up far too many memories and Clarke’s chest aches with the longing for those simpler days, but at least it isn’t destructive. They’re done destroying each other.

Lexa gets out of the car, thanks her for the drive, and heads over to her own car, parked in Clarke’s drive way. 

Clarke takes a deep breath. She made her decision and she has to see it through. 

She stops Lexa with a hand on her elbow before she can get in her car.

"Can I show you something?” she asks, aware of how strange it sounds. But she has to. They’re done destroying each other. And Lexa offered her an olive branch, now it’s her turn. Lexa looks doubtful. Confused. “Please, Lexa.”

She nods.

Clarke leads them around the house toward the backyard.

Lexa’s eye zone in to the plant that makes the entire space. The pale pink chrysanthemums flourish still. She planted them a few weeks after the miscarriage, trying for her and Lexa to have somewhere to grieve, since they didn’t exactly get a funeral or a grave for the child they lost. 

Lexa had tried at first, but then called it ridiculous. Back then, that had hurt Clarke. The thing actually gave her some peace, and watering it before bed had become something of a routine.

“You kept it alive,” Lexa mentions. She sounds slightly surprised. If Clarke  might even say in awe.

“Yes,” she tells her. “But that’s not what I wanted to show you.”

She nods to their shed. 

“I needed to get out of the house sometimes, back then, so I made this.” It was a few weeks before Lexa asked her for space. Clarke shakes her head. “I can’t believe you never noticed.”

Clarke opens the metal door of her shed-turned-studio.

It smells like turpentine and it’s probably unhealthy, but it’s one of her favorite places.

Lexa is silent behind her. 

Clarke heads to the back of the space, her hands sweaty, her legs weak.

She grabs a large canvas, and uncovers it, peeling away the white fabric that hid it from view. She steps away.

Lexa gasps.

“I painted this…ages ago.”

“After it happened,” Lexa says, tears in her voice. 

Clarke shakes her head. “After you left. After the papers.”

Clarke steps aside so Lexa can walk through and inspect the painting more closely. 

“It was my way of moving on,” she tells her. And then takes a deep breath and says it. “If moving away is what you need to do that, I understand.”

Clarke’s terrified she’s sick,  and she wants Lexa, but she wants Lexa to have what she needs.

She watches Lexa kneel down in front of the canvas, come face to face with the an image of herself. The Lexa in the painting smiles, while the Lexa in front of her has quiet tears falling down her cheeks. 

A newborn baby, his face pink and lively and beautiful, stares up at Lexa in the painting. Dark hair the same shade as her own and with dark blue eyes, like Charlie had when was born, but that Clarke was sure would have changed to the color of a lake. Would have looked just like Lexa’s.

The painting is all they wanted but couldn’t have. Everything that life took from them. 

“I’ll support you,” Clarke says through her tightening throat. “I know you’ll still be there for Charlie. We can even find a school that’s closer to your new place-”

The hug is tight.

Lexa’s arms around her feel like they’ve never spent a day away, her warmth the same. She even wears the same perfume. Clarke holds her back just as tight. 

It’s the only thing that feels right.

Clarke has missed this. She lets the side of her head rest against Lexa’s, let’s her palms rest open against her ex-wife’s back.

They’ve never been closer since their marriage fell apart.

They’ve never been more vulnerable.

And yet, she’s never felt more whole since it happened. Even if Lexa is moving away, even if there will be more distance between them. They’ve never been closer. Clarke breaths in deeply, fills her lungs fully for the first time in almost two years. This is the peace she was craving, and looking for in all the wrong places. 

 Even if things are over, they deserve this. Closure. 

“Thank you,” Lexa tells her, her breath hot on her shoulder. Clarke nods.

Minutes go by before they finally step away.

Lexa wipes at the tears on her cheeks.

Clarke laughs wetly as she does the same.

Lexa is finally looking how Clarke hope she would back in those dark days. 

Lexa should leave if she needs to. Clarke…she loves her enough to want that for her. And Clarke will tell her, if there’s anything to tell, as soon as she has her results back and not a second earlier. She won’t tell her something Lexa could use as a reason to stay. She won’t impede her. She’ll make the road easier.

Because Lexa looks hopeful. Like she’s going to fix her life. The sight almost hurts Clarke’s eyes. She looks bright. Beautiful. Like she’s going to live her life again. 

And Clarke knows she needs to do the same.

They walk out of the backyard.

Clarke knows that there’s months and years of hurtful words and hateful actions to unpack, that they did a number on each other, but for the first time she has real, true hope they can move forward -not only for Charlie's sake, but for their own.

She waves faintly at Lexa when she drives away

Her heart on her throat, she picks up her cell phone.

“Are you off today? Can you come over to my place? We need to talk.”

 

 

 

She’s waiting in the couch when he walks in.

She left the door open for him.

She had to, because it’s not like she ever thought of giving him a key. She’d never even thought of introducing him to Charlie until Charlie herself had found them kissing, forcing her hand. She never wanted to lie to Charlie.

Clarke realizes she’s been lying to herself.

“Thanks for coming,” she tells Finn.

Sure,” he says. Clarke looks away when he tries to greet her with a kiss. It lands on her cheek. Her chest feels tight. She hates being the bad guy. “What’s up?” Finn asks. “You didn’t sound like it was just lunch and a movie.”

“No…I guess it’s not.”

She hopes she doesn’t look as awkward as she feels. But Lexa did always tell her face was an open book.

Lexa. She’s a part of this. Not the reason, maybe, not the underlying cause. But a preexisting condition.

It’s why Finn’s embrace feels so wrong. She hasn’t moved on. She’s been trying to fool herself into thinking she has for far too long. There’s still shrapnel beneath her skin. There’s still Lexa, everywhere, inside. That hug in the shed, between canvases filled with their broken hopes, soothed Clarke more than a hundred kisses from Finn ever could.

And she can’t do that to him. She can’t do that anyone she might be with.

Most importantly, she can’t do that to herself.

“Clarke, what’s wrong?” he asks, sitting next to her. “Everything okay with work? With Charlie?”

“No, yeah, every thing’s fine with her.” She looks away from him. “It’s…it’s me. Actually.”

“Oh.”

She tries not to fiddle with her hands. Tries to think of the best words to use, but she’s been thinking ever since she called him and it’s gotten her nowhere.

She keeps staring at the floor.

“You’re doing it, aren't you?” Finn asks. He doesn’t sound surprised. Just hurt. Disappointed.

Clarke looks up.

“Finn…”

“What was it?

Clarke purses her lips. Maybe she doesn’t have to say it.

“It wasn’t you.”

“That’s the line you’re gonna use?”

She closes her eyes. Breathes in. 

“Why?” Finn asks. “I thought…I thought we had a good thing going on-”

“We did. It’s just- It’s me.”

“You keep saying that.”

She looks back at him. His brow is furrowed, his eyes shining, and Clarke feels sick that she led him along like this for months.

“Finn-”

“I love you!”

Her breath stops. 

“I don’t,” she says. He looks like the two little words are a physical blow right to his chest. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But I think I can’t, and that’s not fair-”

“You think you can’t…” He stands up, paces in her living room. He turns toward her and Clarke stands up. “Is this about Lexa?”

She gasps. 

She doesn’t answer. 

She just finished her sentence and hopes, hopes he can forgive her.

“That’s not fair to you. You deserve someone who-”

“I don’t care what I deserve.”

Clarke feels tears sting her eyes. She bites her lip. She deserves this feeling, and she can do nothing but take whatever he dishes out. 

But it seems Finn is done.

“I don’t care what I deserve, because I wanted you,” he says measuredly. “But it’s clear someone else already had you the whole time, didn't she?”

Clarke swallows her tears.

“Finn…”

He waves his hand.

“It’s whatever, Clarke.”

He closes the door after himself.

Clarke sinks back down on the couch.

He’s not wrong, in part. Once upon a time she and Lexa had each other.

But now, Clarke has nobody. Nobody in this moment who knows how worried about herself she is, how hurt she feels, no one to hold her at night. And she knows that’s how it has to be. But it still feels like she has no one.

And it doesn’t matter at all who still has her heart.


	10. Chapter 10

 

_(August 13th, 2024.)_

 

_She dreads it the whole month._

_She tries to ignore it, to take on more cases at work, she does a few pro bono ones to fill her free time, she takes Charlie shopping for clothes she doesn’t need, and then does the same for herself._

_Anything to stop thinking about it._

_And it works, for a while._

_When the day arrives, she wakes up, goes through her morning routine as usual, drives to work and makes some calls like everything’s normal. She doesn’t remember that it’s that date until she’s having lunch at the McDonald’s close to her workplace._

_And once she knows, once she remembers, the salad almost comes back up._

_One year. And entire fucking year since her life fell apart._

_This day last year she was pregnant, and she lost her baby. (It's easier to think the words, ever since she started seeing Indra, but the feeling never ceases to wreck her like a punch to the sternum.)_

_She staggers out of the fast food joint, meeting the sunlight outside with squinting eyes and a thick knot in her throat. She can’t stop time, or control the weather. Lexa looks around and realizes that the world keeps turning, merciless, even when she feels she has been left behind._

_A year. It’s been a year._

_She walks to the nearest bar._

_The sound of her cell phone ringing breaks through the haziness of her thoughts._

_It’s almost dark outside. It’s a good hour since the bartender refused to serve her anymore alcohol. And her phone is ringing._

_“Lexa?”_

_Lexa smiles wistfully. She hasn’t spoken to Wells in such a long, long time. They were friends. Are they still friends? He asked her a question._

_“Huh?”_

_“I’m outside,” Wells says. “Can you walk?”_

_It’s a funny question. Lexa thinks so, because she laughs. She has legs, of course she can walk. But when she stands up to prove her theory the world tilts side ways so violently she has to grasp the counter to stay on her feet._

_"Ah...I don't think so," she tells her phone. Wells. She thinks she hears him sigh. There's a beep from the cellphone. sSe pulls it away from her ear. The screen is dark. It takes her a second to understand that he closed the call._

_She sits back down on her stool._

_She's not worried about the fact she can't really walk or stand up straight. Right now, she's not worried about anything. She can't remember ever being worried, either. It's like she's never felt a bad thing, never known darkness or pain or fear. Her chest bubbles up with laughter, and she's not sure why, but she lets it out._

_And then there's a warm, dark hand on her shoulder._

_"Lexa."_

_She shakes her head. She knows he's come to take her away, take her back. She's not sure back to where, but she knows she doesn't want to go there. It's on the edges of the mind, how it feels like to be lonely._

_"Let's go home," he says, taking a hold of her, but she pushes him away._

_"I'm...fine," she slurs, her tongue a sluggish thing. She might not feel like laughing anymore, but at least she feels empty. Empty is better than overflowing with pain. Lexa doesn't even want to look at him, he reminds her of before, puts at the forefront of her mind exactly what she doesn't want to think about._

_"You're not," he says. "And you're also drunk."_

_It's strange wording, but Lexa doesn't think too hard about it._

_"We're going," he says, firmly, grabbing her cellphone from the bar and helping her down from the stool. Lexa finds her feet following his guidance, the fucking betrayers._

_The sun is going down._

_The sky is all flaming oranges and bleeding reds, and Lexa can't look at it. It makes tears sting her eyes._

_She's inside Wells' car before she realizes it, staring at the dashboard and feeling regretfully how the world begins to return to normal._

_"Why do you do this to yourself?" He asks softly, and Lexa shrugs._

_"I didn't wanna think," she says, still dragging her words._

_Wells shakes his head._

_"You have a daughter to think about," he says. At the mention of Charlie, Lexa bites her lip. That's not what she meant, that's not what she was talking about._

_"Why are you here?" she asks him._

_"I'm your friend," he tells her. He hasn't started the car. Lexa knows he's staring at her, his eyes as warm and understanding as always, and so she doesn't look back. She doesn't want pity, but she doesn't deserve concern._

_"Are you?" she asks roughly._

_"Of course I am. I know it's been hard and you haven't wanted to talk but- I'm here." He shrugs. Lexa's throat aches, and she's not sure anymore if it's from the vodka or something else._

_She nods._

_"You're...you're Clarke's friend," she tells him._

_"I'm her friend too, yeah, but that doesn't mean-"_

_"No," she raises her voice. "I didn't- I didn't-" She takes a breath, forcing her tongue to cooperate and the bile to stay down. The more sober she gets the harder her head pounds. "I didn't say you're her friend too, I said you're her friend. Hers. You're hers, you're all hers. All of you. Octavia and Raven and Linc-"_

_"Lexa..." His voice is incredibly compassionate. "That's not how it works."_

_Lexa shakes her head, even though it hurts._

_It's not that simple._

_"You knew her first," she insists. "For fuck's sake, you grew up with her, Wells! How could I compare?"_

_"It's not a competition! Are you hearing yourself?"  He asks. "Clarke and I grew up together,  so what? I met Lincoln in college, does that mean he'll never be as good as friend as she is? She doesn't even like sports!"_

_Lexa doesn't laugh. She knows what Wells is trying to do. He always makes people feel better, gets a smile out of them when they're upset. He made Clarke laugh after her father died, even when Lexa couldn't._

_Lexa doesn't say anything, she just shrugs._

_"What about Raven? She was worried sick about you-"_

_Lexa shakes her head. She wasn't, she can't have been. Raven is Clarke's friend first. All those times Raven asked, or tried to talk to her - that must have been all Clarke. She's sure it was all Clarke. Same with Octavia. And Lincoln- she used to be good friends with Lincoln, but he's still Octavia's husband. And Octavia - it all goes back to Clarke. She wants to go back to Clarke, too. She's working on it._

_But the thinking still hurts._

_"Stop."_

_But Wells doesn't._

_"What? Don't give me that 'she's Clarke's friend' bullshit. So Clarke knew Raven and Octavia a whole year more than you did. We've been friends for over a decade Lexa, do you think a year means anything to any of them? They care about you. I care about you. We loved you! Lexa, we were best friends-"_

_"Stop!" Lexa can't hear it. She doesn't want to. It's a lie. It has to be, because she's sure as hell not deserving of love._

_Wells stops. He starts the car and makes a sharp turn back to her apartment. Lexa tries not to throw up._

_She almost doesn't realize it when he parks in front of her building, half an hour later. She straightens her head, which feels incredibly heavy. She's not wasted anymore. Maybe tipsy, and she's not sure she can walk straight, but at least she can think. Everything hurts._

_A year, but she can't say it out loud._

_She's about to get out of the car when Well's gentle hand stops her. She doesn't look back at him._

_"What do you want, Lexa?" he asks her, like she's fragile. "If you want me to ignore it and never mention it again, I can do that-"_

_"Can you?" She knows he can't. None of them can. She knows that every time they'll look at her they'll see what happened and feel pity, and so she can't. She can't have them in their life. They're not on even ground anymore. She can be honest with herself now, just until the alcohol fades from her bloodstream._

_"Yes," he says, vehemently. "I'm your friend."_

_Lexa nods. She wants to believe him, but part of her doesn't , not for a second._

_"Think about Charlie, okay?" He pleads. "Please don't do this again."_

_Lexa nods again and gets out of the car._

_She doesn't make it up to her floor before she pukes all over her shoes._

 

 

She knows as soon as she wakes up.

She’d hoped to be able to forget it this year, to let it pass by like another  regular day, especially with how busy she’d been lately with the move and tying up all her cases at work.

No such luck.

Lexa opens her eyes to the ceiling and feels the grief hit her like it was day 0. She’s a different person than she was back then, at least, she’s trying to be, but however much she has improved does nothing to quell her feelings. Maybe it isn’t supposed to. Lexa doesn’t think there’s an anti-anxiety medication on earth that could make it hurt less. She’s just a mother, and it aches.

Lexa hears a door close, and she sits up, quickly wiping her eyes. Charlie is with her this morning. 

Lexa can’t break in front of Charlie. She knows she will -break, that is- at some point. She’s spoken to Indra enough about repressing her feelings and misdirecting her anger and purposely isolating herself from her loved ones. She’s heard it all. She knows all about crying, knows she’ll do it and she’ll feel like death and then her chest will be tight but she won’t be as heavy.

The pressure in her head from trying to reign herself in is a lot worse than the pain behind her eyes after. 

So she knows she’ll cry, and it’ll be the ‘healthy’ thing to do. But not yet, and never in front of Charlie.

Her daughter was too small when it happened, she still is too small to really remember dates apart from her own birthday and a few holidays.

Charlie doesn’t know it’s been two years to the date since Lexa lost the baby, and her mothers’ marriage began falling apart. Her daughter doesn’t remember, but it’s all Lexa can’t forget.

She gets out of bed and pushes it all down for Charlie’s sake. She’s a mother, and she has one child to take care off right now, and one child to miss even thought they never met.

 

 

“And then I’ll…poof!” Charlie plays with her food, smacking spoonfuls of strawberry jam on top of her pancakes. Lexa looks up from the piece of toast she’s been crumbling with her fingertips, her stomach rolling too much to eat it. It’s only been a few hours, but it already feels like a hard day. 

A hard two years.

“Don’t get jam on your uniform, baby,” Lexa tells her softly.

Charlie nods, and goes back to swirling her spoon in the sticky pink mess before taking a small bite. Lexa looks back down to her plate and sighs.

“Mommy, are you sad?”

“What?”

“Are you sad?” Charlie asks again, her big eyes looking up at Lexa, her brow furrowed in concern.

Lexa smiles at her as best she can, and shakes her head. 

“No, I was just thinking,” she says, straightening up and pulling herself together. 

“Thinking ‘bout sad stuff?” Charlie asks, and it’s not the first time Lexa thinks her daughter is so innocent but so wise. She doesn’t answer her.

“We’re going to be late for school,” she tells her instead. “Are you done? Let’s go.”

Charlie stuff the last of her pancake into her mouth, puffing out her cheeks, and Lexa doesn’t have it in her to chastise her or tell she could choke. She just drives her to school.

The minute Charlie is out of her sight, safely inside her classroom, the knot in Lexa’s throat begins to dissolve.

She walks back to her car, consumed by 'what if's. Once she’s inside, she doesn’t turn the car on right away. Tears blur her vision.

She wishes it had happened earlier. 2 weeks, she wouldn’t have noticed. She’d thought the insemination didn’t take. She was obsessive about getting answers after it happened, she stills remembers all the statistics she read. Plenty of women miscarry before they even know they’re pregnant. Lexa wouldn’t have noticed.

Or it could have happened at 6 weeks. Just an interesting collection of cells.  She wouldn’t have been in too much pain, she probably wouldn’t have gone to the hospital. It would have hurt, but Lexa would have known it was possible, and she would have recovered. She didn’t…she knows Clarke did, but Lexa didn’t quite see it as a baby yet back then. Just cells, forming, growing. A living possibility. 

But at 13 weeks? They had a baby. Lexa felt it like that. She saw his little head and limbs in the sonogram.  They waited until the 1st trimester was over to tell their friends, to explain to Charlie that she was going to be a big sister. They thought it was safe. That the chances of something going badly were past them, and they stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop. They stopped being cautious. 

Lexa has never been much of a dreamer, but in that short week between the first 3 months of her pregnancy and the miscarriage, she had imagined an entire world with their baby. 

And then it ended. And Lexa could have chosen to give birth and hold the tiny dead body in her hands.

But she knows that would have destroyed her even worse. She wouldn’t have been able to look at it. Him. She and Clarke got used to calling him ‘little pickle’ when she was pregnant, and a ‘he’ after she miscarried, but they never found out the gender. It was too soon to tell. But she thought it’d be a boy, and so did Clarke. There was no competition to see who was right. Even Charlie wanted a brother. 

And Lexa never even got to feel him kick. 

She starts the car and drives home, careful of the road. Her hands shake sometimes, when she gets anxious. Even if she was the most serious one all those years, the temper of steel, Clarke always had the steadiest hands. Lexa wishes she had that. 

She also wishes she could have the same temper. Be the same person she was, but the truth is it changed her. Because it’s been so long since she last did this, a year to be exact, and she doesn’t want to resort to it but she does.

Lexa gets home and heads straight to her liquor cabinet. She never quite emptied it.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Someone is a quiet little mouse today,” Clarke says softly, looking at Charlie through  the rear-view mirror. Her daughter hadn’t said a word since Clarke buckled her into her car seat.

By now Clarke would be informed of absolutely everything that went on at school, but Charlie just looks out the window quiet, seemingly thoughtful. Clarke hates to see melancholy in children’s faces, and it’s too often a sight at the hospital, but she absolutely can’t bear when it’s her daughter. 

“Did something happen at school?” she prods.

Charlie shakes her head.

“Are you sure? Did you fight with one of your friends?” she asks. “You can tell mama anything,” she reminds Charlie.

Her daughter looks up, but she stays silent.

Clarke gets a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She’s been a little on edge this past week, sleeping less and less, her nerves getting the better of her as she waits for her exam results. Maybe she hasn’t been paying attention to Charlie as she should have. They talked the night before, when Charlie was at Lexa’s. And her last long weekend- Charlie wasn’t acting differently, was she?

Clarke’s too busy berating herself to realize the light changing to red, and her foot slips on the break before she can get the car to stop. She breathes hard. The street is mostly empty for a Thursday afternoon, and the cars drive on sluggishly towards their destination. She tries to relax, though her hands still shake.   
   
She should probably stop driving until she gets her fucking results back. The stress is going to kill her.

Clarke makes a turn, parking on the side of a less transited street. Getting home can wait, right now she wants to listen to her daughter.

Clarke takes her seatbelt off, and turns around.

“What’s wrong, baby?” she asks gently.

Charlie bites her lip. 

“It’s mommy.”

A fist squeezes the middle of chest. It’s instant and vicious, like everything relating to Lexa.

“What’s wrong?” Clarke asks.

Charlie shrugs. She looks up at Clarke, and Clarke gets the feeling she’s being considered carefully.

“Are you friends again for real?” Charlie asks.

Clarke nods.

“Yes,” she says, never feeling more at ease with the answer. They made some headway back at her studio, their old backyard. And there’s a lot between them still, but Clarke’s confident it will never be as terrible as it once was. “I promised you, didn’t I?”

Charlie nods again.

“What happened with mama?” she asks, making a mental note to call Lexa when she gets home.

“She was weird,” Charlie tells her. “All sad.”

Oh.

Clarke remembers the minute Charlie says it, and it steals the breath from her lungs.

The anniversary.

She knew it was coming up, she’d even asked Lexa about it, but she’s been so swamped at work and so off because of her impending results- she forgot. Or she didn’t realize, is more like it. Clarke swallows. Of course it would have hit Lexa hard. She turns around in her seat, swallowing. It hits her too. Her eyes burn. Two years.

It’s been two whole years.

“Are you sad too? Is it my fault-”

“No, never.”

Clarke wipes under her eyes, and then tries to offer Charlie a smile through the rear view mirror.

“It’s a grown up thing, okay?” Clarke tells her, making a mental note to call Lexa when she gets home...just to see how she’s doing. She remembers her unanswered calls last year and it hurts, but- they said things would be different, and they will be.

“You don’t have to worry about it,” she tells Charlie. “Nothing bad has happened-”

“Are you both sad about her tummy?” 

Clarke expels all the air in her lungs.

It aches, cuts through her chest like a hot knife through butter. Her daughter knows so much more than they give her credit for.

Clarke turns around.

“You remember?” she asks Charlie, but her daughter shakes her head.

“It’s just what makes you and mama look like that,” Charlie tells her, extending her little arm, her pointer finger just inches away from her face. The car seat is too far away for her to be able to touch the tear Clarke is sure has stained her cheeks. 

She wipes it away.

“You’re right,” she tells Charlie. “Do you remember when we explained mommy wouldn’t be having a baby anymore?”

Charlie nods, though Clarke doesn’t think she fully understands, even now.

“Well, that happened on this day-”

“Again?”

“No, baby. It happened this day two years ago, I mean, on this date,” Clarke explains. “Your mama and I just…we remember when it’s this time of year, and it makes us sad. Do you understand?”

Charlie nods.

“But it’s okay to be sad sometimes, right? Nothing bad is happening, not now and not ever again.”

Charlie looks thoughtful, her big blue eyes a lot more serious than Clarke would have hoped they’d ever have to be at her age. She and Lexa blew that, they took something from her when they couldn’t figure out their issues. They could have helped it but they didn’t. But this? This can’t be helped. And when Charlie is older she’ll understand all the pain it brought it her mothers.

“Okay,” Charlie tells her. 

“Yeah?” Clarke smiles softly. “You know what? How about when we get home we invite River over, huh? And maybe we invite uncle Wells and aunt Sasha too, and the boys, and we get the grill out back…”

She paints a picture for Charlie with her words, a party when there are no reasons to party, when the very thought goes against everything Clarke is feeling right now. But she needs to talk to her friends, and Charlie needs to know nothing is wrong.

Clarke once saw her mom and dad wiping tears away when she was a kid, the minute she stepped into the room. They didn’t often fight, but she could tell they’d been fighting. They didn’t mention it and she didn’t ask, but Clarke never forgot. Not the fight itself, but the fact that they hid anything was wrong from her. It made her middle school self wonder how many bad things she’d been sheltered from because her parents loved her. She couldn’t understand it then.

The minute Charlie was born? The second she felt her slip out of her body and Lexa caught her and placed her in her arms? Clarke understood it perfectly right then.

And she does it now.

“Maybe we could have a movie marathon? We could swing by the store and pick up ice-cream and those sundae cups we got for your birthday.”

Charlie’s face brightens up at the mention of the sugar, and Clarke smiles, truthfully this time. But then the smile disappears from her daughter’s face as fast as it had appeared.

“What’s wrong, Charlie?”

“Mommy is still sad,” Charlie tells her, and Clarke’s heart clenches as she nods.

“But we’ll ask mommy to come, won’t we?” she asks Charlie, and little by little the grin comes back as her daughter nods. “Okay then.” 

“Maybe if mommy’s busy today we can do it tomorrow?” she adds, knowing how Lexa gets, knowing that if Charlie noticed then it can’t be a good day for her. She won’t want to be there and Clarke doesn’t want to disappoint her daughter.

“But if she’s busy maybe we stay anyways?”

Clarke doesn’t turn back as she asks why, her eyes on the road.

“I know you don’t want her to be sad-”

“No,” Charlie interrupts her. “I don’t want mommy to be alone.”

 

 

Clarke calls Lexa as soon as she gets home. 

She gets Charlie to put her school bag away and go change out of her uniform, and then she’s grabbing her cell phone, hesitating for only a second before she dials the number she knows by heart -after all this time.

It rings.

It rings, and it rings, and it rings. It goes to voicemail.

And Clarke realizes she’s on the border of a precipice. She’s been making an effort to make things work between them again, she’s been promising Charlie, she’s been hearing Lexa out, she’s tried -but she has yet to take a step. Keeping her biopsy and her worries from Lexa was a passive thing to do. Calling is not.

But she doesn’t just want to call.

She remembers how Lexa used to get when she wasn’t around, how Wells had confessed he’d found her this time last year, and she can’t remain passive. Deep inside her chest, she loves Lexa. If she was a computer it would be part of her code, ingrained in who she is. There’s resentment above, and confusion, and miscommunication upon miscommunication, but it’s still there. And it makes her worry. She’s afraid of Lexa drunk in a bar somewhere. She’s afraid of her driving and getting into an accident. 

Maybe she’s just like her daughter, and just doesn’t want her to be alone.

Because the next minute she’s putting her cell phone down and telling Charlie she’s going to spend the night at her grandmother’s. She’s going to check on her ex-wife.

 

 

“Are you gonna hang out with mommy?” Charlie asks when they’re almost to her mom’s. 

Clarke was surprised her daughter didn’t ask any more questions, and wasn’t disappointed when Clarke told her their little party probably wasn’t going to be happening that day. She’s a lot more receptive than Clarke thinks, a lot more understanding than what she expects a child to be. Charlie Eloise Griffin-Woods is a 7-year-old saint.

“Yeah, baby,” she says.

“Can I stay?” Charlie asks, expectantly.

Clarke stops the car in front of her mom’s place. She takes her seat-belt off and looks back at Charlie.

“There’s some grown-up things we need to talk about, okay?” She tells Charlie. At least, Clarke hopes it’ll all be talking. She still remembers how drunk Lexa looks like, how she can go from dominating a screaming match to sinking into a stupor from one second to the next. Clarke really hopes she isn’t drinking again, but she knows, she has this feeling…and it’s not just last year. It’s just the fact that she’s not answering her phone and she’s not at work and she knows her- Lexa.

“You’re staying with grandma like we talked about.”

She expects Charlie to fight, like she fought her bedtime because she wanted to be with both of them, but she doesn’t. She just nods. 

“Okie-dokie,” she says, undoing her own seatbelt in her car seat. She smiles to herself, and Clarke frowns, confused. But then her mom is waving from the front door, and Charlie is giving her a quick kiss before jumping out of the car and running to her grandma. They go inside.

Clarke starts the car.

 

 

She’s lucky there’s no one at the lobby in Lexa’s apartment building.

She hasn’t gone up enough for them to know her here. She promises herself she’ll fix that just a second before she realizes that Lexa won’t be living here for much longer. Clarke doesn’t want to think about it. Maybe she’s not even here right now, but it was the first place she could try and get to to check up on her.

She calls again when she’s outside her door, and the phone rings, Clarke can hear it through the door. She’s home. Maybe she’s asleep. Maybe she’s actively ignoring her.

That’s more likely.

Lexa had never liked to talk about her feelings. She was guarded and Clarke had realized that quickly, and it’d taken her a while to break her walls down. Lexa had never liked to be babied, either, not at first. It took a solid year of dating before Lexa let her stay around while she was sick. Clarke knows all this, she remembers it, and she’s afraid she’s made the wrong choice coming here.

Maybe Lexa doesn’t want company, the same way she didn’t want it two years ago.

Back then she’d pushed and pushed and it has pushed her straight out of the house, and then her life. But Lexa is leaving anyways. She can try, it wont make a difference.

So she knocks on the door.

“Lexa?” she calls out. She raps her knuckles on the door again. “Lexa, it’s me.” She closes her eyes. “It’s Clarke,” she specifies. 

She doesn’t open.

And so Clarke digs out of her purse the key she has, the key Lexa had given her in case of emergencies regarding Charlie when she had first moved out, and that she had never used. 

She opens the door.

And Lexa is there all right, she spots her as soon as she walks in.

Slumped against the dishwater in the kitchen, a half-empty bottle of vodka beside her and her eyes drooping closed. Her heart hurts. The sight sends a shock through her system, and in a moment it all disappears, everything lumped on top of the love and keeping it from shining through.

Lexa was the love of her life. Lexa was her wife, her best friend,  her support...for so long. Lexa is the mother of her child -of her children, both alive and not- and she can’t bear to see her like this.

Clarke steps through the door.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The door swings open.

Lexa’s water-logged brain registers that. (Is there such a thing as alcohol-logged? Her mind feels soggy and useless and- She’s drunk. She’s just really fucking drunk.)

It’s why it takes her so long to raise her head, to be concerned that someone just walked in. 

(Deep down she knows who it is, this far gone Lexa can admit to herself that every time Clarke enters a room her very body feels it, that her skin blooms with goosebumps every time she walks near.)

She looks up at her.

Clarke looks like a goddamn angel, her brow twisted, her blue eyes looking down at her, her hair like a halo around her. She looks like a fucking Renaissance painting.

Lexa must look as pathetic as she feels.

Her head feels heavy, like she’s in college and Clarke has convinced her to try weed brownies for the first time. She remembers that feeling, her head like an alien’s, too heavy for her to rise. She remembers Clarke’s laugh. They laughed so much back then. 

Her head is heavy now, too. Or is it her heart? Maybe both. 

The aftertaste of vodka is strong in the back of her mouth, and Lexa isn’t sure she can tell her forehead from her ass anymore.

The thought makes a chuckle escape her lips, and the sound  makes Clarke -Clarke’s here- jump. Lexa forces herself to stop. If she keeps laughing she’ll cry, and she hasn’t cried yet. She doesn’t want to. She wants to forget there’s even a reason too.

She tries and fails to sit up a bit, but her hand slips on the tiles. She’s slumped against the…washing machine? Stove? And she can’t even sit up against it properly. She bets she can’t walk. She couldn’t last year. She probably can’t now. Who’s gonna help her up? Clarke? Lexa lets her chin meet her chest, the weight of her thoughts too heavy to carry anymore.

Suddenly there’s movement so much closer beside her, and the hair on her arms stand on end. It makes her jump. She must definitely look as pathetic as she feels.

But there’s no judgment in Clarke’s eyes as she sits next to her on the cold floor. 

Then again, Lexa is so drunk she can barely see straight. 

She feels like holding her breath and she doesn’t even know why. Clarke studies her, concern…is it concern?…in her features. When was the last time they were this close? The shed? When Clarke had hugged her so close and tight she’d thought for one fucking terrible second that it was all a mistake, that they could move past things, that Clarke could dump her boyfriend and she could stay in the city and they’d love each other again. She can admit it now. She can admit a lot of things when she’s this drunk that she’d never let herself consider out loud. Clarke looks beautiful right now. She smells like home. Like a place LExa misses. Suddenly, Lexa is glad she’s drunk. She’s pathetic.

And Clarke is here.

Panic seizes her chest.

If Clarke is here-

“Char-” She tries to stand up, but her hand knocks over the bottle of vodka while she searches the floor for purchase. Its contents feel the room, acrid and sharp, and Lexa looks around in a moment of clarity. Her daughter can’t see her like this. “Charlie.”

“She’s with my mom,” Clarke tells her, pushing her back down. Her hands on Lexa’s shoulders burn.

Lexa slumps back down.

“How much have you had to drink?” Clarke asks.

Lexa looks around, to the bottle next to her, to the glass in her hand. Did she have a few beers before hand or did she go straight for the hard stuff? No, she doesn’t have beer in the house -she never liked it, that was all Clarke. Clarke doesn’t live here anymore -here is not even home, it’s just an apartment, some fucking rat hole she ran to when things got hard, a place she escaped to to avoid talking to her wife at the pinnacle of her cowardice. She hurt her daughter. She pushed away Clarke and everyone who ever cared about her. She hurt Charlie. She’s still hurting Charlie. She’s a fucking mess. 

She wants to throw up.

It hurt back then, every single thing, her chest and her hearts and her lungs and her stomach, but Lexa’s sure in one blinding moment that it could never have hurt more to stay than it does right now. To have left. To be alone of her own making.

She empties the contents of her stomach in the bowl Clarke places in front of her.

It feels like she’s underwater, while she chokes through the acrid, poisonous taste that fills her mouth. While she hacks and coughs, bits of food trapped in her nose. She shouldn’t have had lunch before deciding to go off the deep end.

She feels a hand on her back. Clarke is still next to her.

And then she’s gone.

Lexa’s not surprised. She ruined things. And she thought she had come to terms with that, through therapy and deciding to move and seeing Clarke rebuild her life. She knew there was no way back after signing the papers. She walked away first. She wanted to be alone, she needed…she thought she needed that. She she squeezes the sides of the bowl so hard they dig into her palms, and finally recovers her breath, Lexa wishes she’d never done it. She’s so sorry. She’s so fucking alone.

There’s a white patch in front of her.

Lexa looks away from the salad bowl and makes her woozy eyes focus on the piece of paper towel, and the hand giving it to her.

She looks up at Clarke.

“Here. Blow,” she says. Lexa grabs it.

Clarke grabs the bowl from her hands and puts it down somewhere behind her.

“We’re gonna have to get rid of that one,” she tells Lexa, and Lexa is so confused she forgets to clean her mouth until Clarke grabs her wrist and reminds her.

Lexa wipes away the obvious signs of her misery.

“That gives me a little peace of mind that you won’t die of alcohol poisoning,” Clarke says, and each passing moment grants Lexa more clarity, now that her stomach isn’t sloshing with alcohol each time she moves, and she’s not in a hurry to drink more. “Do you think you can stand?” Clarke asks her, standing up herself and offering her hand. 

She doesn’t know.

But she can try.

 

 

They end up on the couch. 

The ground doesn’t move as much when she’s sitting still.

The world still seems to shake, but Lexa thinks that’s more Clarke’s fault than to blame on the vodka.

Lexa sits back against the cushions, her head beginning to hurt. She suddenly thinks it’s not fair, how she can still feel so drunk, so dumb and slow and useless, while still feeling like she’s got a hangover. Clarke looks at her carefully, maybe gagging whether she’s ready to throw up again or if she’s about to drown in her own spit, Lexa isn’t sure. 

“Are you feeling better?” Clarke asks, and her voice is so goddamn soft Lexa feels her eyes sting. 

When was the last time she had this? When was the last time she’d wanted it? (Always, she can admit that to herself, it’s all right, she won’t remember in the morning.) Abby was here at times but it wasn’t the same. She pays Indra to listen to her problems, she hasn’t spoken to Wells in weeks. Why hasn’t she? Do they really hate her? Did they pick Clarke over her? Did that happen or did she just decide it did so she wouldn’t have to see them anymore, so she wouldn’t have a living reminder of what happened? Maybe deep down she just doesn’t want to feel someone else’s comfort when all she’d been needing was Clarke’s.

“Lexa?”

Lexa shakes her head.

She hasn’t cried, she knows it’s the healthy thing to do but she hasn’t, she just got drunk instead. She doesn’t want it, but Clarke keeps pushing. Her hand is on her wrist. Soft, warm. Lexa feels so cold.

“If…” She finds her voice. She doesn’t even realize she has until she hears herself speaking. She doesn’t have control over what’s coming out. “If it hadn't happened-”

“Don’t-”

“If it hadn’t happened, we’d have a toddler now,” she says, and it’s then she breaks. The weight of the day presses down on her and breaks her in half, and it’s like not two years have passed but two hours, two days even since everything imploded. They’d have a toddler. She’d have someone hugging her knees, playing with Charlie. Another child running around her home. Lexa doesn’t have a home anymore. 

“Oh, Lexa.”

She hadn’t noticed, but when she looks up she realizes Clarke is crying, too.

“We’d still be together,” she says, her face twisted in grief. She can’t control it, can’t keep it in. It’s not what made her pick up the bottle but it is what made her keep drinking. She’d still have a wife, she’d still be a wife. And it wasn’t just the baby, it was her own shit choices. She left, why did she leave? She broke her marriage. And all this time she’d been blaming herself for it, but she didn’t do it when she lost the baby, she realizes that now. It was everything that came after. 

She can’t look up at Clarke. She can’t bear to see the pity in her eyes, the disgust at the shell of a woman she’s become. She feels like a dog begging for scraps. A sob escapes her. Clarke isn’t hers anymore, her home isn’t open to her anymore, their daughter is the only thing they share and even Charlie will leave one day, and leave Lexa even more painfully alone.

If it hadn’t happened. If it hadn’t happened.

“You’d…” Lexa shrugs, reining in her breathing. “You’d still…” love me. 

She thanks whatever God is listening that she doesn’t say it out loud.

It’s the biggest act of courage she’s done in the last two years to look up at Clarke. 

Tears stream down the cheeks of her ex-wife.

“Lexa…You can’t live like that,” she says so softly, so achingly gentle that Lexa wants to sink into her words and embrace and never come out. Regardless of what’s happened between them, she can see nothing else in this moment but the woman she loves, the mother of her child.

“You can fall in love again,” Clarke tells her, and Lexa shakes her head bitterly. Clarke lays her hand over her arm. Lexa doesn’t jump this time, she just feels incredibly warm, a calm veneer that only Clarke could bring falling over her. “You can have another baby-”

“I’m 32,” she tells Clarke. She looks up into watery orbs, so painfully blue she thinks Clarke should feel guilty for robbing the ocean. “I already miscarried once,” she says, letting more tears out against her will. “Charlie is it for me.”

Clarke shakes her head, and extends her hand, and for one glorious, terrifying second Lexa thinks she’s going to hold her face put she stops, puts her hand on her shoulder instead. Lexa wishes it felt less like breathing fire.

“That doesn’t have to be true,” Clarke tells her. Her mouth is twisted in that way that always broke Lexa’s heart, that way that means she’s reigning herself in. Lexa can’t even walk straight right now but she could always read Clarke like a book. “You…you’re going to move, aren’t you?” Clarke gasps. “And you’re going to have friends, and you’re going to- to like your new job, and you could meet someone.” A small, choking sob escapes Clarke’s lips, even as she smiles. “And you’re going to be happy again. You’re going to be so happy, Lexa.”

Lexa wants to believe her as much as she doesn’t.

She wants to take the promise of a future Clarke is painting, and that feels more heartbreaking than watching her paint that image of herself and their baby ever could have. It’s a promise that she believed in herself.

But Lexa is starting to feel like she’ll never be as happy as she was before. 

Because Clarke won’t be there.

But she’s here now, and Lexa throws her arms around her and gives her tears free reign. She feels Clarke’s arms receiving her with endless grace, and she cries, mouth open and sobbing. Thick and rough and painful, she cries against her ex-wife’s chest, and she feels Clarke holding herself in. 

She feels Clarke holding her together.

 

 

Her tears stop eventually.

Her head hurting doesn’t.

Clarke is soft under her cheek, and at some point Lexa ended up with her arms curled against her chest, her whole body tucked into Clarke’s side on the couch, their legs touching, and Lexa can’t breathe properly. She’s drunk off her ass but this feels more intoxicating.

Clarke’s hands makes its way up and down her back, even after she’s done crying, long after the tears dry and her chest feels empty, throat sore. 

She pulls away.

Clarke looks at her with gentle eyes, her mouth pressed together into a sad, understanding smile.

Lexa stands up on unsteady feet, and then there’s Clarke’s hand on her elbow, steering her straight into her bathroom. 

“Brush your teeth,” Clarke tells her. “I’ll get you your clothes so you can change.”

Lexa nods, obeying quietly.

It almost feels like she’s living in the past for a moment. Like she just got home after a tough case, and Clarke is there, taking of her, like she always did. Like Lexa will walk into her bedroom and Clarke will help her change, and then she’ll stay awake only long enough to bring Charlie to sleep with them. For a moment she feels the care that she’s been missing, the warmth that she refused because she was scared, she was so terrified that if she let herself break apart in front of Clarke, she’d never be able to put herself back together.

Instead, she broke everything else.

She stares at herself in the bathroom mirror.

Her eyes are reddened, swollen. She looks pale. She always does after drinking. When they were in college, Clarke used to tell her she turned into a veritable vampire.  

She jumps at the knock on the door.

"Lexa?" Clarke calls out. "I got you some pajamas ."

She opens the bathroom door. She doesn't even realize when she'd closed it. The floor still feels unsteady.

"Thanks," she tells Clarke, though it doesn't encompass everything she's feeling right now.  All the months Clarke waited, all the screaming she endured. How she took care of Charlie when Lexa was drowning in grief. She's broken them irreparably, she knows that, but she needs to tell Clarke that she knows, that she sees it. 

And she will. Tomorrow. When she's sober.

If Clarke is still here by then.

“Change,” Clarke tells her. “I’ll be right outside if you- I’ll be outside.”

Clarke leaves her alone.

Lexa has to sit down on the closed toilet to take her pants off, and it’s a feat to unbutton her shirt. She can still feel the effects of the alcohol, but she’s floating now, not sinking down.

She puts on the clothes Clarke got her, and her breath stops in her throat.

It’s Lexa’s old college jumper, from their college’s shitty football team. They never won anything, but Wells played with them, and Lexa bought it to support him -and embarrass him. She still has it. It always made her feel better. It reminded her of long nights sitting with their friends under the stars, of going back to Clarke’s dorm room and cuddling together, falling asleep two hours before they had to get up for class. Clarke knows that. She must remember.

She puts it on. Pulls on her sweatpants. She has to try twice before she’s able to stand up.

Clarke is waiting for her, sitting on the arm of the couch.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Clarke says. Lexa nods. “I called my mom,” Clarke continues. “She’s taking Charlie for the night. I talked to her while you were in there, she’s okay with the sleepover. Kane taught Shadow some new trick.” Clarke shrugs. “You need to get some sleep. Do you have aspirin? For tomorrow?”

Lexa nods, even though she doesn’t understand.

Clarke is still here.

Even after everything, she still is. 

She lets herself be guided to the bed, and Clarke catches her when she stumbles. 

Lexa’s heart doesn’t stop accelerating, beating away like a jackhammer in her chest. It didn’t for a decade, why would it stop now? It doesn’t know of divorces and legalities and bullshit papers she signed, it doesn’t understand the walls her brain built and Lexa is too drunk to explain them. 

She sinks down on her bed, heavy. Her shoulders sink down. Clarke sits down beside her.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and she doesn’t know why her words come out even more slurred than moments before.

Clarke shakes her head. 

She takes a breath.

Lexa sees her shoulders rise and fall from the periphery of her vision, feels her warmth close by.

She looks up. Clarke is just as beautiful as she was on the first day she saw her in class. Just as strong and kind   as she was every day since. Her hair is different now, and so are the minuscule lines in her smile, but it doesn’t matter. Lexa still loves her, as much as she did after their third date, when she realized she was in love, as much as she did when Charlie was born and she caught her in her arms. Lexa thinks another decade could go by and it would hardly change.

“Lexa?”

She looks up at her.

“What you said earlier?” Clarke mentions, and then shrugs. “You’re the mother of my child,” she says simply. “I will always... always, love you.”

Lexa kisses her.

She tips forward and she’s right there, her lips landing just an inch beside her mouth, though her intent is clear. 

She’s just too fucking to drunk to do it right.

And then Clarke’s standing up, her hand covering the place her lips have just touched.

“Lexa, I- You’re-” Clarke takes a step back. Shame burns Lexa’s chest, cleanses the last of the alcohol’s effects. She’s stupid. So fucking stupid. “You need to go sleep,” Clarke tells her gently, her voice brittle.

Lexa doesn’t fight it, lets herself be pushed back on the bed.

She’s gone seconds after her head hits the pillow.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Her cheek burns.

Or at least it feels like it. She can still feel the ghost of Lexa’s lips even hours after the fact. 

Some things don’t change.

Sleeping on the couch still gives her a crick on the neck, smelling vodka still makes her nauseous even though she can really hold her alcohol with anything else, and Lexa’s lips can wreck havoc in her. Facts of life. She was so stupid to think she could fool herself indefinitely. She will never be able to numb her heart enough so the treacherous thing doesn’t love Lexa. It’s ingrained in her. It’s a part of who she is.

She’d told her last night.

And it wasn’t just because Lexa’s Charlie’s mother too.

It was because she couldn’t bear for Lexa to think that she was unaffected, that she didn’t care. Didn’t love her. She does.

And then that kiss…

Clarke touches her fingertips to the spot.

It had stopped her cold. It had set her on fire.  Clarke had accepted she still loved Lexa, that it would take a lot more than a year and some months apart for her to forget. She'd accepted she'd only been using Finn as a body to warm her bed so she wouldn't feel the weight of the loneliness quiet so much. 

But she wasn't ready for Lexa trying to kiss her. And what hurts the most is the vodka in her breath.  

She knows they're too far gone, that they've hurt themselves and each other too much to have anything akin to....to a relationship, again. It's insanity to even consider it. But feeling Lexa's lips on the corner of her mouth? She thought about it. She couldn't help herself.

But Lexa was drunk. Lexa didn't really want it. 

She's leaving.

And Clarke told her the bare bones of the truth last night even though it broke her heart.  She would leave and be happy and find love elsewhere. 

And Clarke would let her. She'd encourage her, even. Because they both deserve that. She prays she's not sick, that she'll get to see her daughter grow up. And she hopes Lexa can find happiness again, even if it kills her that it won't include her.

And Clarke shouldn't make it harder on her by staying.

She knows her wi- her ex-wife. She knows Lexa will be embarrassed about last night, that her pride can be an obstacle. So she gets up from the couch, straightens her clothes, and makes her way to the door.

“Stay?”

Clarke stops with her hand on the doorknob. 

She turns to find Lexa, her eyes clear of the haze that overwhelmed them last night, standing outside her bedroom door. Clarke is stuck in place all over again.

Lexa was cold.

Where Clarke was hot and red and angry, Lexa was cold and aloof. Where Clarke wanted them to fight, to get things out in the open, to expose their problems regardless of how raw and ugly, Lexa folded into herself. Hid herself away from Clarke. She’d never felt so alone.

The emotionless mask she wore was one Clarke was familiar with, when things got too hard and Lexa thought being strong meant pushing her feelings away, meant not breaking down. 

Clarke wanted them both to break down, so they could rebuild. That didn’t happen back then.

It’s happening now.

Lexa was so broken last night. And in the light of day it hasn’t changed, not even without the aid of alcohol and the weight of a day the both feel pressing down on their shoulders each year. She’s still here, still present. For the first time in so long Clarke feels as though Lexa is with her, not only in the same room but in the same head space. There’s no distance between them. It’s the first time she’s felt it since before the miscarriage; the hug in the shed the other day came close but this? They’re standing five feet apart and it already feels closer.

Lexa’s eyes are full of warmth. In that moment Clarke doesn’t remember the vibrant green ever being anything else.

“Just for a minute. There’s…there’s something that I need to say.”

Clarke nods.

Looking into her eyes, feeling like this? How could she not? She knows it’ll wreck her, sitting beside her and facing her after last night. Does Lexa remember? Was she so far gone that she might not?

Clarke is conflicted. For a second, she doesn’t know what would be preferable.

She hates herself because it gave her hope. For one second she felt the hole she didn’t even realize she’d been living with until a few days ago fill, she felt her chest bloom with warmth. But Lexa didn’t really want her. Lexa doesn’t feel that way anymore, and even if she does…they’re too far away from each other now, even standing in the same room.

Lexa would never kiss her sober. The knowledge burns.

Clarke meets her halfway on the couch.

Lexa nods. But Clarke knows her enough to see beneath the surface, to understand that Lexa is psyching herself up to do something, and Clarke thinks she’ll actually die if she has to hear Lexa telling her she didn’t mean it herself. 

“I…” Lexa sits down on the other side of the couch. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

Clarke closes her eyes.

“I didn’t mean to drink that much,” Lexa continues.

She opens them. She doesn’t…she doesn’t remember the kiss. Does she?

“It was unacceptable and I’m sorry you had to see it,” Lexa tells her. Clarke wonders how long did she practice that line after waking up this morning. “I also wanted to thank you…for everything. For staying.”

Clarke nods.

“Of course,” she says. “We’re…we’re trying, aren’t we?”

Lexa looks up at her. Clarke can’t get enough of her eyes looking like this.

“Yeah, we are,” Lexa tells her. And then she purses her lips. 

“Is everything-”

“I’m sorry,” Lexa tells her. It’s more like it bursts out of her chest, and Clarke doesn’t know what to do with it.  “About before. I’m sorry for leaving-”

“Lexa-”

She’s sitting beside her before she commands her legs to move, her hand on Lexa’s arm.

“I need to say it,” Lexa tells her. “I need you to know I’m so sorry.” 

Her voice is hoarse and Clarke thinks she sees tears shining in those green pools when she turns away, and her heart breaks all over again. They lost the baby and then Lexa left. And Clarke’s heart has been broken ever since.

“I’m sorry for leaving,” Lexa tells her. “If I could turn back time-”

Clarke shakes her head. She can’t think about it. She told Lexa she couldn’t live like that, wondering about the what ifs, and she can’t either. It’ll kill her, kill both of them. She doesn’t think about what would have happened if Lexa had stayed, if they were still together and in love with each other, if she never had to know what it felt like to wake up for a decade next to the love of her life and then have that ripped away.

Lexa looks up at her, eyes overflowing with regret and tears.

“It’s okay…” It wasn't, for the longest time, and it still hurts, but Clarke has made her peace with it.

“It’s not,” Lexa rebuffs her. “I’m sorry about what I did to you. I’m sorry I forced you away. And I’m…God, Clarke.  It was your baby too. I’m just sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Clarke bites her lip.

Her eyes burn and her throat itches. 

Her broken heart begins to knit itself back together.

“Lexa.”

“I wasn’t strong enough back then,” Lexa tells her. “I know I wasn’t there for you like I should have. So please, let me do it now.”

Clarke finds it hard to breathe. Her chest stutters with her breath. It’s been so long. The loss began to feel like phantom pain instead of an open wound. But a single word from Lexa brings it all back, a single offer. She remembers how alone she felt, how abandoned. How guilty for even grieving at all. And it’s like suddenly she’s been given permission that she can.

She had her friend’s support back then but all she wanted was Lexa.

“Please,” Lexa repeats. “Let me do it now.”

So Clarke lets her.

She lets Lexa hug her like she hugged her last night, and the minute her ex-wife’s arms are around her, holding her tight, she breaks.

She lets go like she wishes she could have during the days that followed that moment, two years ago. Lexa is strong and solid and certain, and Clarke let’s the tears fall freely. Once they start, they don’t end.

She cries for every night she spent alone, wondering if it would be the one Lexa would choose to walk away. She cries for every meal she and Charlie ate without her, and for every fight she and Lexa had, that had dug itself into her heart like thorns. She can almost feel them falling out now, one by one. 

And before she knows it she’s crying not only for the baby they lost, but they time they lost apart, and she feels herself healing at the hands of the woman who broke her because she was broken herself. Clarke can see that now. 

“It’s okay,” Lexa tells her, and Clarke nods against her chest.

And then she feels a drop falling on her cheek, and pulls away to see Lexa’s beautiful green eyes have overflowed as well. She wants to catch her tears with her fingertips, wants to wipe her cheeks with her hands -but she’s not allowed to touch her like that anymore. 

So she just pulls her into a hug again, but this time, they meet in the middle. And they cry together and grieve like they hadn’t done before.  It's what she wishes they'd done right after it happened.

 

 

“I used to…I used to cry at work.” It’s something she’s never pictured herself telling Lexa, but she feels safe to do it now. Before, she thought she had to be strong and keep it all in, keep her family together and ignore her own feelings to take care of them; and afterward, she was too ashamed, too desperate to move forward. She never told anyone.

Lexa rubs her shoulder, up and down, up and down.

Clarke chokes out a wet laugh.

“During my breaks. I used to go to the bathroom with my granola bar and just sit there and let myself…” She shrugs.

Lexa squeezes her shoulder.

“I never saw you-”

“I didn’t let you,” Clarke tells her. “I didn’t want to make it harder. I knew what you were going through was…”

“I’m so-”

“Don’t apologize for it." She won't let Lexa feel bad for her own choices.  "You don’t even have to apologize for leaving.” She pulls away, and Clarke realizes maybe they’ve sat there for longer than she thinks because the lack of Lexa’s warmth leaves her feeling needy. “I wish you hadn’t but I know why you did. And it’s in the past.”

Lexa bites her lip.

Clarke takes a deep breath. They are in the past.

But there’s still something that won’t let her rest, that won’t let her get closure.

“Can you just tell me something?” she asks. Lexa nods. “Was there anything I could have done, to get you to stay? To get you…us…to do this, back then?”

Clarke holds her breath.

Lexa shakes her head.

“It was on me.”

Clarke nods.

And she lets go of what’s plagued her for the last year and a half.

 

 

“We never thought about a name,” Lexa whispers. Clarke nods. She rests against the arm of the couch, her legs tucked in in front of her. Lexa mirrors her position. Clarke feels like they’re young again only for the fact that they’ve both taken off their shoes.

“I know,” she says. “We thought we had time.”

“I can’t think of one now,” Lexa tells her.

Clarke smiles, feeling strange. Weirded out. It’s such a painful thing to discuss but it suddenly feels light. 

“Me neither,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t think he would have liked being ‘pickle’ all his life.”

Lexa laughs, and they both widen their eyes at the sound. Lexa covers her mouth, but the sweet sounds still drifts out.

“Pickle Griffin-Woods?” Lexa asks. Clarke chuckles.

It’s not that funny. She realizes they’re discussing the name of their miscarried unborn child, and maybe it’s euphoria, or some sort of emotional break after the relentless crying of before, but it feels light. It might be the wrong trigger, but suddenly they’re chuckling together, and Clarke can’t think about anything but how good it feels. How right.

She’d forgotten the beauty of Lexa’s smile. 

 

 

“I saw…” Her voice trembles. 

She hasn’t thought about it for so long, has pushed the image to the back of her mind, kept it locked in a drawer there where it wouldn’t bother her, even though sometimes at night she still hears it rattle. She’d never told Lexa, or anyone, why would she? 

It was too…private. Too theirs. Too fucking heart-wrenching.

“What?” Lexa asks softly. Everything about her has being like that since Clarke walked through the door. Even when she was off the deep end drunk (Clarke remembers that failed kiss that nearly stopped her heart) Lexa was as soft as running water. She doesn’t remember the last time she saw her like that.

When they were married, maybe, before it all happened. They didn’t have walls with each other, they’d foregone every armor. 

She doesn’t want to jeopardize that now.

Clarke thinks of the image in her head, the blood and the flesh, and she shakes her head. She won’t do it.

“No. It’s fine.” 

She shrugs.

She’s quiet after that for a few minutes, gathering her thoughts. She doesn’t want them to stop talking but she’s not quite sure how to go on.

Lexa squeezes her hand

“You can tell me anything,” she say. Clarke’s eyes widen on their own. It’s been so long since she felt she could, but it’s what she misses the most. 

Not the intimacy or the companionship or the support. But the simple fact that she could always get home and have someone waiting for her, that she could tell someone everything, that she could share her life and receive the same in return. (Clarke thinks maybe the simple act of lying in bed together and talking encompasses everything she said before. Intimacy, companionship, support.)

She misses that. Achingly.

Clarke swallows. 

“That day… when they were performing the D&C-”

Lexa flinches. Clarke stops talking.

“That’s enough, you don’t need to-”

“No, go on-”

“Lexa, you’ve been through enough-”

“You can talk to me-”

“I saw him, Lexa!” Clarke exclaims. It burst out on her chest with a sob. Its like there’s a weight off her shoulders when the words are out. She couldn’t help it, when the doctor pulled back and her eyes followed the line of his arm, pulling away from between Lexa’s legs, bloody and holding a piece of-

She’d looked away. 

That was their future he held with his cold instruments. Torn apart. She hadn’t meant to see but she did, and she was thankful that Lexa hadn’t. She hadn’t wanted to give birth, and Clarke would never begrudge her that choice, but she still couldn’t help but wonder if things would have been different had they seen him. Held him.

But Clarke’s the only one who saw, even if only for a second, even if only a glance. And now Lexa knows.

“I’m- I’m sorry-” she gasps out, looking at Lexa’s overflowing eyes. Lexa shakes her head.

“Me too. I’m so-”

And then Lexa’s arms are around her again. For the first time in what feels like centuries, Clarke truly lets go. It still feels as soft as water. They cry together again, they grieve. The laughter of a few moments ago, and the tears a few moments before that, and again now -it feels like a cleanse. Cathartic.

And deep down, between the anger and the sorrow, curled around her heart like tender morning glories…

Something heals.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lexa reheats homemade lasagna for lunch.

It feels out of place, oddly normal after the heaviness of the past few hours, but Lexa takes it. She pulls out the dishes and sets the cutlery down and tries too hard not to think about it too hard. The microwave beeps. She hears Clarke end her call in the living room.

“My mom stopped by the house to get Charlie’s uniform, she was just about to drop her off at school,” Clarke informs her. “She asked if I was here,” Clarke tells her. “She knows I was checking on you.”

Lexa nods.

“She’s smart,” she tells her. “She knows so much more than we think.”

“You have no idea,” Clarke tells her. Lexa begins serving the plates of food. It feels domestic. Lexa is trying to avoid that. The more normal things feel the easier it is to understand what possessed her to try kissing Clarke last night. She’s glad she failed. And she’d be okay with not thinking about it again, with pretending it didn’t ever happened.

She’s been acting like she doesn’t remember.

Clarke hasn’t mentioned it either.

Lexa thinks she’ll just add it to the pile of things she’s done in regards to Clarke that she regrets. One more for the road before she leaves.

Clarke has a boyfriend. And  Clarke’s been with said boyfriend for, how long now, 3 months? Four? She and Clarke had only been dating two months before they said ‘I love you’. Are she and Fin there yet? Or long past that?

Lexa can’t ask herself what she was thinking, because she knows she wasn’t. Alcohol has a tendency burn out the part of her brain that takes care of rational thought, leaving Lexa all impulse and no control.

And all her desires have always carried Clarke’s name.

“I…I actually found something in her bag,” Clarke says, shaking Lexa out of her thoughts. Sh sets down two glasses of water on the breakfast island. It’s either that or two boxes of apple juice to go with lunch.

“What?” she asks, frowning. 

Clarke takes a seat in front of her.

“Nothing bad,” Clarke assures her. “Just a photo.”

“A photo?”

“Yeah. Well, two photos actually.” Clarke shrugs. “Of us.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” 

“Did you-”

“I don’t know where she got them from, actually. At least, one of them. She took this photo from my mom’s. Do you remember the picture Raven took? With us in our bed and Charlie holding her-”

“Elephant,” Lexa finishes for her.

“It wasn’t an elephant,” Clarke tells her. “It didn’t have a trunk.”

“Factory mistake,” Lexa says, the corner of her mouth lifting up in a small smile. It was a weird stuffed animal for sure, and they never quite figured what it was supposed to be apart from vaguely mammalian, but Charlie had loved it. “She took it from Abby?”

Clarke nods, take a bite of her food.

“My mom told me the frame was empty. She checked it when I call, who knows when she took it.”

Lexa swallows her food. She remembers the day even if she doesn’t remember the specific picture. They must have looked so happy. She can imagine why Charlie would want a constant reminder of that. Still hurts. It’s what they should have been able to give her, always.

“You said there were two photos?” She asks Clarke.

Clarke nods while she wipes her mouth. Lexa took out the cloth napkins, the nice ones that for some reason she took when she moved. It’s so strange, the knowledge that she’ll have to wash them by hand later, and erase herself any proof of Clarke’s presence.

“The other was of her last birthday party.”

“Have you printed them yet-”

“I have not,” Clarke said, locking eyes with her. “And you clearly don’t know about it either. It’s this candid of us dancing with her, I don’t even know who took it. And it’s not glossy photo paper either, it’s just-” Clarke shrugs. “Regular paper.”

She wants to tell Clarke to tell her friends -their old friends- not to give Charlie pictures like that behind their back. But she’s guessing that wasn’t the case.

“Who do you think-”

“My working theory is that our guilty party is just over 4 feet tall.”

“River,” Lexa says. 

“The one and only. I’m guessing she took the picture with her cell-phone, printed it at home, and then gave it to Charlie. I haven’t talked to Lincoln and O about it.”

“Do you think you have to?” Lexa asks. “I mean, we probably should have taken a picture like that ourselves.”

“No, you’re right. It’s not a bad thing. It’s just- I don’t know what it means to Charlie.”

“Oh.” Lexa takes a drink of water. She knows what Clarke means. They’ve been there before. Charlie hoping they’d get back together, wishing her time away, getting distracted in class. They got past it. “You’re worried she’s back to thinking we- that we might-” Lexa can’t even say it.

“I don’t know. I’m probably blowing things out of proportion- it was a nice gesture of River to give our daughter a picture of us, and she wouldn’t have it otherwise, it’s just- It’s weird to think Charlie might have been hiding that from us.”

“That she had something we didn’t know about,” Lexa says.

“Exactly.”

“I can mention it to her if you want,” Lexa offers. “Pretend like I found it. I don’t want her to feel like we’ll get mad-”

“No, you’re right. She can tell us anything, right? Even if it’s, you know,” Clarke signals between them. “About us.”

Lexa nods. 

She’s curious now. She wants to see that picture, the one at Charlie’s last birthday party. She doesn’t think she and Clarke have one together with her apart from a stiff, awkward one Wells insisted in taking, and even, they were on opposite sides, their hands on each of Charlie’s shoulders. Their daughter the only connection between them. Lexa is beginning to believe that is not true anymore, that maybe it never was.

She clears her throat. 

“Are you done?” she asks, pointing to Clarke’s near empty plate. Clarke nods. 

“Thank you,” she says. “I never- mine never turned out as good as yours,” she mentions. Lexa presses her lips together into a small smile, accepting the compliment. The dish was the epitome of comfort food in their household, and even now, it still reminds her of home, just like pancakes and strawberry jam. Everything they don’t have anymore.

“No problem.” Lexa clears the table. She doesn’t really have anything to offer as dessert. She never much liked sweet things, she only got a taste for them because Clarke loved everything sticky and sugar covered. And then Charlie inherited her mama’s inclination for everything diabetes risk inducing.

She puts the dirt dishes away. 

She’s sober now, and the food is gone. The talking is done. (And it’s left her exhausted.)

She doesn’t know what comes next.

Clarke chooses for her, and she’s thankful.

“So, um, how’s everything going with the move and all that?”

Lexa turns around. “I, huh, I called the company and told them I’m taking the job, so that’s done. I’m looking at a few apartments right now.”

Clarke nods and gives her a small smile. “That’s great. I’m happy for you, Lex.”

She hasn’t head that nickname in ages.

 

 

Clarke tells her about a movie marathon she promised Charlie, and she agrees right away.

The time they spent together at her apartment seems like a faraway dream, and she wants to hold on it -bury her feelings and the memory of that failed kiss, yes- but hold on to the understanding they found. They grieved in a way they’d never done before, not together. She thinks it might have been what Clarke wanted all that time ago.

She couldn’t do it then, but she did now, and she feels lighter. 

She accepts.

She brings the chocolate syrup and sprinkles while Clarke supplies the ice-cream.

Wells arrives with Sasha, and they both hug her. She hasn’t talked to Wells in so long. And she hasn’t seen his wife in even longer. Their two boys dash inside the apartment. Mirror “Hi aunt Lexa! Hi aunt Clarke!” get thrown their way before they run to find Charlie.

Clarke is busy in the kitchen so Lexa ushers in Octavia and Raven. Raven squeezes her arm. She offers Lexa a smile. Octavia nods and walks on by. Lincoln hugs her. River hugs her like her dad does, and then shows Lexa the hole where her last baby tooth has fallen out. 

They notice the change in Lexa but they don’t say anything. She’s thankful.

Lexa hopes her eyes are as apologetic as she feels. 

She never meant to push them away so violently. It might have been what she thought she needed at the time, but after the past few days she thinks Indra might have had a point when she talked about human interaction. Talking to Clarke felt good. Being around everyone again…it’s less painful that she thought it’d be. Though it feels just as vulnerable. 

She’s not ready to say it’s worth it. 

But when Charlie yells “Look!” and does a cartwheel, and both she and Clarke get to clap, the smile on Charlie’s face makes her think it is. She needs both of them, working together, standing together. All her feelings for her ex-wife swirling like maelstrom inside her chest cease to matter; she can’t avoid Clarke because she’s hurt and she can’t push her away because she’s still in love. She will stand by her because of Charlie. 

And maybe that’s what she needs, too.

Charlie falls asleep in the couch between them once the evening is drawing to an end, all the little kids curled in their parents laps and all the dirty dishes a pile in the sink. 

Clarke brushes Charlie’s hair off her forehead, and the she looks up at Lexa.

“One good thing we did, isn’t she?”

Lexa looks at Charlie, her pink cheeks and lips set in a pout as she sleeps. Her mind goes back to Charlie’s birthday party, to the picture their daughter had that they had no idea about. She is. And it’s about time they start acting like it. Lexa knows they can. They love her too much.  And once upon a time, they were both in love with each other. 

Maybe Charlie’s logic was right. She was always the smartest one of the three of them. Maybe there’s enough love leftover that they can put everything aside and care for each other so they can care better about her. 

Maybe they’ll be just fine. 

 

 

She gets the call driving home. 

She’s just left work after talking to Gustus, after letting him know that she’d be resigning and moving in a few weeks time. She’s still riding the excitement and the sadness of telling her boss off her plans, of getting approval and encouragement. Gus was so supportive it made her throat itch. He was almost like a father to her all the time she worked with him. 

She’s thinking about finding a replacement for herself to help him out when her cell-phone rings.

It’s Charlie’s school.

She’s worried for a second, thinking maybe Charlie had an accident or got in trouble, but her concerns are assuaged when she answers.

“Can you come pick Charlie up? She says it’s her mama’s day to pick her up, but miss Griffin hasn’t arrived yet. She’s the only child left.”

“I’m on my way.”

 

 

She gets there in a second, the traffic lighter than usual. Charlie is playing just past the gates of the school when she arrives, her teacher behind her. Even this far away she can see her watchful eye over her daughter as Charlie skips around in the front lawn. It’s one of the reasons she and Clarke chose a private school, this specific all-girls private school. They care about the kids. 

“Mommy!” Charlie yells when she parks right in front. Lexa gets out of the car. She receives Charlie with open arms when her daughter jumps, Lexa settles her on her hip.

“Mama was ‘sposed to come,” Charlie tells her, her lips wrapped around a lolly pop.

“She was, wasn’t she?” She says. She tried calling Clarke in the way over, but she didn’t answer. It’s odd to say the least. Even if she’s in the middle of a surgery, Clarke usually calls, or has one of the interns call her or Abby if she can’t do it herself. This has never happened before.

“Thank you!” She tells Charlie’s homeroom teacher, and the woman waves from afar.

Charlie’s sticky fingers hang on tight to her shirt as she turns around, making their way back to the car.

“Who gave you that, your teacher?” she asks, nodding to the lolly pop Charlie holds in one of her hands.

“Mhmm.” Charlie grins, her lips blue.

 

 

She doesn’t quite know where to drive back to.

Charlie sits in the back, in her car seat, swinging her legs and smearing blue candy across her cheeks.

Lexa tries calling Clarke’s work, the number still saved in her phone, but her cell phone starts ringing before she can make the call. She answers it.

“Lexa Griffin-Woods?”

She frowns at the use of her former hyphenated last name.

“Yes?” 

“We’re calling from Sibley Memorial, it’s about your wife-”

Her breathing stops. 

“My wife?” 

“A Clarke Griffin-Woods? Is that right?”

“We…we used to be married, I…”

“My apologies,” the woman says. “Our records still list you as her spouse-”

“What’s wrong?” She asks. She looks at Charlie through the rear-view mirror. Her daughter’s eyes are steady on her, her lolly pop forgotten. “Please, just tell me,” she asks. Pleads. Hopes.

“She was in an accident, Miss Woods.”


	11. Chapter 11

“Are you family?”

The question rings out. 

The bustle of the hospital hallways doesn't reach her as she holds on to Charlie, her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest and her lungs working doubletime. Lexa’s feet had carried her as fast as humanly possible down the hallways of the hospital, a quiet, scared Charlie on her hip, and now that she’s in front of the nurse a single question makes her pause. 

“Yes,” she says, and doubt doesn’t shake her voice.

She knows the nurse is asking if they’re family as in if they’re related, if they’re married -she’s still listed as Clarke’s wife, after all. The nurse nods once she gives her name and tells someone else to call a doctor.

Lexa puts Charlie down. Her daughter holds her waist tight, hiding her face against her stomach. Lexa strokes her hair.

She hasn’t lied.

Technicalities aside -they might not be married anymore, but Clarke is her family. She’ll always be her family. She was insane if she ever thought she could walk away from that, or that they could ever not be in each other’s life. They share a child, for crying out loud.

If only for that -and it’s not just for that- they’ll always be connected.

The doctor makes a beeline towards her when he sees her. Lexa doesn’t know how he knows, she doubts she’s the only here who looks desperate to know more about her loved ones. Maybe desperation is clearer on her face. Lexa shakes his hand, realizing in a split second just how detached she’d felt in the drive over. The cold of his hand shocks her back into the present.

“Clarke Griffin,” she says. “They called me and said-”

“Yes, Mrs.Griffin was in a car accident not far from here. She’s all right.”

Oxygen floods her lungs.

“Can I see her?” she asks right away, her hand on the back of Charlie’s head.

“As soon as she’s moved to the ICU-”

“You said she was all right.”

Lexa was a doctor’s wife, she knows more than most what the words entail, just how close a human being has to brush death before getting a bed up there.

“She is. It’s hospital policy.” He looks down at Charlie. “Is there anyone who can stay with your little girl while we talk?”

She brushes Charlie’s hair, and then picks her up. 

Her eyes are wide and her lip wobbles. She’s been so brave the past few minutes, Lexa can’t conceive that she’s asking her to do even more.

“Do you think you can stay by yourself for a few minutes?” she asks. Charlie violently shakes her head.

“Is it necessary?”

“I’d hate to scare her…” he tells her softly. Lexa nods.

“Look, you can sit right there next to the TV, and you can see me. Okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

Charlie stares at her, her little fists clenching her shirt. 

“Where’s mama?” She asks, her mouth thick around the words.

“Mama is okay,” Lexa promises her, breathing easier now that the doctor has reassured her. 

When she got the call her stomach dropped. Her mind turned on itself over and over while she drove, conjuring up images of raising Charlie as a single mom, or Clarke sleeping never to wake up, of blood and guts and every horror movie she ever saw involving car accidents. Her brain worked overtime to drive as fast -and safe- as possible, while still supplying her with endless images full of pain and wrecked metal. Lexa is 32 and she’s never had more than a parking ticket. 

She was terrified. Her daughter still is.

“Okay?” she asks Charlie. “She’s fine, she just got into a little problem with the car, but you heard he doctor, right? She’s okay. Can you sit here?”

Charlie bites her lip, and nods.

Lexa puts her down.

Every single bone in her body makes her want to turn around and hug Charlie to her chest again as she walks the few steps towards the doctor.

“What happened?” She asks again. “How is Clarke?”

“Your wife was involved in a minor accident, her car veered against a wall-”

“Oh my god-”

“She suffered a concussion and a fractured leg. That’s why I didn’t want your daughter around to hear that, it can be scary for little-”

“She has a broken leg? Is that considered ‘all right’?" There are so many things she wants to ask but not a single one of them come out of her mouth.

“A minor fracture, really. We’ve placed her leg in a splint. The concussion is our main concern, though when she first came in Mrs.Griffin was awake and responsive-”

“She’s not now?”

“She’s asleep. We gave her medication for her leg, and of course, letting her brain rest is the best course of action right now. We’re keeping her overnight as a preventive measure, head injuries after car accidents and the like can be tricky. I’d rather we monitor her-”

“Of course,” Lexa agrees right away. And it’s only then she remembers they’re no longer married, that she has no right to ask about Clarke and they have no duty to answer her. That she has no say in decisions concerning her health.

“You should be able to see her in a few minutes," the doctor tells her. "Is there any more family coming?”

Lexa looks back at Charlie.

She forgot to call Abby. She forgot for a moment that anyone existed apart from Clarke and their daughter. 

“Yes,” she tells the doctor. “Her mother, her…her friend,” she says, because she forgot about Finn. Clarke is with someone. "Her friends," she corrects. She should probably alert Octavia and Raven and the rest of them, too. Or let Abby do it. She doesn't know where she stands right now -if that falls on her at all.

“At this moment if we could keep it to family only,” the doctor mentions, and Lexa nods. 

That’s not her, he just doesn’t know that. 

“If you have any questions, the nurses can answer them, and they’ll tell you of course when it’s okay to go up. I have a surgery scheduled, but it was good speaking to you Mrs.Griffin.”

He offers his hand.

Lexa takes it, and she doesn't care to correct him.

She takes Charlie upstairs with her, even when they tell her it’s only allowed for children 14 and older to visit. There’s no one else that can stay with her right now, she argues. They let her go up. The nurse tells her Clarke isn’t in her room yet, and then hands her Clarke’s purse. 

Lexa sits down to wait.

Charlie curls up in her lap, and Lexa rubs her back with one hand while she calls Abby.

It only rings once.

“Lexa! Have you heard from Clarke? She’s not answering her calls and I’m beginning to get worried.”

Lexa takes a deep breath. Lexa doesn’t want to make Abby panic the way the other nurse had made her. Clarke is fine.

“Yeah,” she says, ordering her thoughts, her words. It’s all still kind of woozy.

“Thank God,” Abby whispers. “Are you with her?”

“Abby, don’t worry, okay? Everything is fine.”

“Lexa…”

“I’m at the hospital. Clarke had an accident but they’ve told me she’s fine.”

“What?”

She hears something on the other end of the line. Abby sitting down, maybe. Lexa would sit up straight, the way she’s used to when she has to be strong for something, but Charlie is clinging to her too tight and holding her down.

“Is that grandma?” Charlie asks. Lexa nods, and kisses Charlie’s forehead.

“Abby, they told me it wasn’t serious.”

“What did they say?” There’s movement in the background. “And where are you? I’m getting dressed, I’m on my way. Is Charlie with you? Oh God, was she in the car-”

“No!" Lexa can't imagine how much worse it would all be if Charlie had been involved -if Charlie had been hurt. She holds her a little tighter just thinking about it. "No, I picked her up from school. Clarke didn’t make it there. And we’re at Sibley Memorial.”

“Got it, I’ll be there in a few. I know one of the surgeons, if he hasn’t retired.” She hears the sound of a door closing through the phone. “Lexa, what did they say? How bad was it?”

Lexa looks down at Charlie. It’s not even an option to mention her mother has a broken leg in front of her.

“She hurt her leg,” she tells Abby simply. “And she hit her head.”

“Is Charlie there?” Abby asks right away, and it’s been 7 years, she really shouldn’t be surprised -but it still does that motherhood seems to be universal.

“Yes,” she tells Abby.

“Does she have a concussion?”

“Yes.”

“Did they tell you what type? Was there bleeding?”

Abby’s words and tone threaten to send her brain spiraling back into the maelstrom of worry she’d thought she’d left behind.

“They didn’t say, just that she was sleeping and it wasn’t serious. But they’re moving her to the ICU.”

“Okay,” Abby says. “Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can, Lexa.”

Abby cuts the line.

“Is grandma coming?” Charlie pipes up, and Lexa nods. Charlie is holding Clarke’s purse like it’s her mother’s hand, like it’s a lifeline. 

It briefly reminds her of herself as a kid, hiding in her mother’s closet. She'd sat between the jackets and the long skirts that Lexa had always loved to see her dance in on the days after the accident.  She’d held her clothes in her arms like that back then, because they were the last thing of hers she had.

It won’t be the last thing Charlie has of Clarke. Clarke will be fine. They’ve been spared (this time, the darkest recess in Lexa’s brain whispers). This wasn’t a brush with death. It was a minor accident. Lexa wonders if this is how life feels, or if she’s been hit one too many times so that every accident feels like a catastrophe. She takes Clarke’s purse from Charlie’s hands. 

It starts to vibrate, and Lexa fishes inside for Clarke’s cell phone, but once she gets it, it’s too late. 

“Do you know your mama’s password?” she asks Charlie. Her daughter knows her own.

Charlie nods. She draws a triangle on the cell phone, and it unlocks.

She doesn’t know who was calling, but Lexa guesses it’s up to her now to let their friends know. To let…the people who care about her, know she’s in the hospital.

Lexa goes through Clarke’s contact list until she comes across his name. 

The hospital called her on a technicality, as an accident. She wasn’t meant to be listed as her wife still. Out of respect for Clarke, Lexa thinks the person she’s really with should be here when she wakes up.

She calls Finn.

The call is not very long, and it's less difficult than she thought it would be. It feels like only a moment passes between closing the line and seeing him. Lexa doesn't have any time to prepare.

She’d forgotten he drove an ambulance. Maybe she’d never really cared enough to remember. On hindsight, she’d never tried to actually learn anything about him at all. Lexa had avoided thinking about the man for a long while after he and Clarke started dating. She doesn’t think they’ve had a conversation longer than a minute. And then he’s there, running down the hospital hallway. She’s holding Charlie so she doesn’t get up, but she sees him intersect a nurse and ask about Clarke, she imagines.

Lexa hadn’t thought about that.

Finn announcing he’s her boyfriend after she’s let them believe she’s her wife because that’s what she’s listed as.

“I’m a friend of Clarke’s,” she hears him say, and frowns. How did he know? And wouldn’t boyfriend be better than friend if he wanted to be allowed into her room? He begins to make his way down the hallway, and Lexa stands up, putting Charlie on her hip. Her little girl’s arms go around her neck as she holds on tight.

“Lexa!” Finn comes to a stop in front of her. “Have you been in to see her yet?”

She shakes her head.

“They’re bringing her to her room,” she tells him. It’s strange, that’s what keeps going through her head. They don’t talk. Then again, Clarke usually isn’t the one lying in a hospital bed, she’s the one fixing people. Her daughter is never worried. It’s a strange day. She hates it. “They said- to let her rest, when we go in.”

Finn nods.

He looks at her. His shoulders move with his breath, and she knows he came running from downstairs, probably climbed the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator.

“I told you on the phone,” she tells him. “She’s okay. They said she’s okay.”

He seems to calm down at that. He nods. Lexa feels an odd kinship with the man. They’re both in the same spot. She’d wager to say they both love her.

“Hey Charlie,” he says, and Charlie turns around, pulls away from Lexa’s neck.

“Hi,” Charlie says quietly. Finn looks at Lexa, and she realizes he’s not that much taller than her. He’s really not that tall at all. She doesn’t know why she never noticed. 

“Was she…” he nods toward Charlie. “Was she with her when-”

“No,” Charlie answers the question before he’s even done asking, even though it wasn’t directed at her. “I was in school,” she says. “Mommy picked me up.”

Finn blinks.

“Okay. That’s…good.” He meets Lexa’s eyes. “I’m glad she’s okay,” he says. Lexa nods. She knows he means it.

“Thank you.”

He presses his lips together, and they both walk to the waiting room she just got up from. They sit a chair apart. 

Lexa cradles Charlie in her lap, like she’s still a baby. 

Finn doesn’t know how to talk to a kid, that much is clear. A lot of people don’t. They’re tiny people, but still people; Charlie is her own person. It bothers her even when her doctor asks things to Lexa that Charlie could answer about herself. She doesn’t like being ignored in conversation. Even when she and Clarke were discussing politics they would let a 4 year old Charlie give her input on the subject. There was never a topic too complicated for her, they never thought she was too young to know about things if she’d already started asking about them. That’s how they wanted to raise her. 

Lexa looks at Finn.

For Charlie’s sake, she hopes Clarke still remembers that.

It’s visceral, the shudder that runs through her body when she realizes someone else will also get to see her daughter grow up. That someone else will grow older next to Clarke. 

That when her- that when Clarke wakes up, she might not be the second person she’ll want to see. (The first person will be Charlie, Lexa knows that to be true as well as she knows her own name.  It’s true for her as well.)

“Lexa?”

She looks up sharply at the mention of her name.

It’s uttered from the lips of a man she does not know, a doctor she’s never seen before. She stands up, her knees groaning with it. Finn walks after her. Her confusion must show on her face, because he’s quick to offer his hand, and then smile when she realizes she can’t shake it.

“I’m a friend of Abby’s,” he explains. “She told me you’d be here.”

“Yes, right.”

“I’ve actually met Charlie here before,” he says, talking towards her daughter. Charlie looks up. She’s been so quiet. She’s never this silent and withdrawn, and Lexa can’t wait until they see Clarke and she gets the reassurance she needs. That Lexa- that they all need. “Do you remember?” he asks.

Charlie shakes her head.

“Well, you were this small,” the man says, bringing his thumb and forefinger together. It almost brings a smile out of Charlie. He looks back up at Lexa. “You can come in now. Please, follow me.”

A knot forms in her throat as she follows the doctor through the hallways, Charlie in her arms and Finn not far behind. She’s always hated the smell of hospitals. It brings her back to her first year of college, to her dad and his battle with cancer. (Calling it a battle might be forgiving. It was a hit, a strike. Swift, brutal, deadly. There was no possible fight against it.) The same smell fills her nostrils as it did over ten years ago.

As it did not so long ago, when she lost their baby while Abby held her hand.

Hospitals remind her of death.

They stop in front of a gray door, not different to the others, at least to her eyes. But her heart -Lexa’s entire body- knows that Clarke is behind those doors and everything she is screams to be let inside. 

“It looks worse than it is,” the doctor tells her. “There is some bruising on her face, but nothing that won’t fade in a few days. I saw her x-rays and there are no fractures other than her leg.”

Charlie gasps, and Lexa holds her tighter. She's old enough to know what a fracture means, and Lexa briefly thinks that trying to shelter her downstairs was pointless. It was always going to hurt her and she hates that. She also knows that she wouldn't be a mother if she hadn't at least tried.

 She nods. 

She’s too close to Clarke to think clearly, to process the doctor’s words and understand the terminology he keeps spouting. In this moment an x-ray might as well be a rock. She’s on autopilot. Her heart beats hard.

He opens the door.

Her stomach falls.

Lexa feels it sink down inside her body, feels the hollowness it leaves in the middle of her belly. Clarke has a black eye. The left side of her face is mottled with purple, and her lips -the full lips she used to know as well as her own, that she’d tried to kiss only a few days ago- are busted.

Charlie gasps again, even more heartbreaking than before.

“Mama!” her shrill scream bounces off the walls. She wiggles roughly to get down on the floor, and Lexa isn’t strong enough to keep her still.

“Charlie!” 

Charlie runs to the side of the bed, and stops only a few feet away. She stares at Clarke.

And then she runs back and slams against Lexa’s legs.

“I wanna go home,” she says. She looks up, begging to be picked up. Lexa does it.

“We don’t usually allow children that small to come up here,” the doctor tells Lexa, his lips pressed and his face morphed into an expression of pity.

“Mama's okay,” Lexa tells Charlie. “Did you see? She’s going to be fine.”

“I don’t-” Charlie drags in a breath, and Lexa can feel she’s about to start crying. “I don’t wanna see.”

Lexa holds her close. 

She understands.

Charlie has never seen Clarke like this.

Lexa did, once. Sort of. When they were in college, Clarke got rowdy after a game of football and challenged one of the guys on the team, a friend of Lincoln, to throw her the ball. And to not go easy on her. He didn’t. Clarke ended up with a black eye that lasted over a week, and Lexa had to set straight one of their teachers that no, she wasn’t abusive.

This doesn’t look half as bad as that. But Charlie doesn’t know that.

Charlie has never seen her mother as anything other than invincible. And so Lexa holds her tighter.

“Shhh,” she shushes her, swinging from side to side like she’s an infant.

“I can ask one of the nurses to stay with her downstairs,” the doctor offers. Lexa shakes her head. She can’t leave Clarke right now, but she can’t leave Charlie. There’s not a world in which she can do either.

“What about her leg?” Finn asks.

Lexa had forgotten he was there.

“A minor fracture,” the doctor tells him. “I had her x-rays sent to me when Abby called. It didn’t need to be set with surgery or nails, nothing like that. Very clean.”

Lexa looks at Clarke, at her bruised face and the larger lump under the blanket, on her left side, where she assumes there’s a cast. She feels wetness on her neck, from Charlie’s tears or snot or saliva from weeping. She hears Finn behind her, feels him, more like. Abby is coming. Clarke is hurt. Lexa feels like the walls are moving in.

Nothing about today feels clean at all.

Finn nods. Charlie pulls away from her neck. 

She drags her hands down her tear-stained cheeks. She turns toward the doctor, her forehead set on a frown and her lips trembling. 

“Is Mama gonna wake up?” Charlie asks. Lexa’s chest clenches.

“Of course, sweetie,” the doctor says right away, and Lexa’s body releases tension like she needed the reassurance too. “She’s just a little tired right now,” he explains. Lexa herself appreciates the words, meant to calm her 7-year-old but doing the same thing for her self.

The doctor looks at her.

“She was also given a dose of codeine for her leg, so some extra drowsiness is to be expected,” he tells her. Lexa nods. He looks behind him. “Her brain is working to recover after the concussion so I would recommend letting her rest, you know? Letting her wake up on her own.”

Lexa nods.

The man’s cell phone buzzes.

“I’m sorry, I have to finish my rounds,” he tells them. “But if you need anything you can ask for Dr.Smith. Oddly enough I’m the only one in this hospital,” he jokes. Lexa tries to form a smile, but she can’t. “Well.” He nods. “It was nice to meet you, Lexa. Can you tell Abby to call me when she arrives? I’d like to say hello.”

“Of course.”

“Okay. And as soon as your wife wakes up you should call the nurse, just to test her reflexes and see where she is at with pain management.”

Lexa nods. She doesn’t even blink at being Clarke’s wife.

The doctor leaves.

“Wife?” Finn asks. Lexa flinches then. 

“He got confused. It doesn’t matter.”  It hurts to say it, even when she knows it’s true. Finn shrugs. 

There are two chairs in the room, one next to the other. They sit.

 Ten minutes go by, then fifteen.  

Clarke is still out of it.   

Lexa doesn’t know why it seems strange to her, as if she thought Clarke was going to wake up the minute they entered the room. It's not like she can sense them.  

She sits next to Finn, holding Charlie.  And that’s also strange. She can’t remember if they’ve ever been in this position. She doesn't think so. She’s never seen Finn hanging out with Charlie, only knows what he's like from her daughter’s recounts.  

Charlie chatters with both of them.  

Her initial fear gone, and knowing her mom is okay, she starts going back to her usual self. Charlie avoids looking at Clarke's face, Lexa notices that much, but besides that she seems okay. She tells them both what she did at school. They nod. Lexa asks her a question about her arts&crafts project while Finn checks his cell phone. Lexa wonder if this is how it’s going to be from now on. Clarke, Charlie and herself, and Finn. A fractured family, harshly stuck together with good intentions.  

The road to hell and all that.  

“Abby is on her way,” she tells Finn, during a moment where Charlie is quiet, her daughter's eyes trailing across the equipment in the room.  

Finn nods.  

Charlie tugs on her collar.

“Yes?”

“I want to go to the bathroom.”

Lexa looks at the door on the corner of the room. She assumes that’s what it is. Abby did know someone up high. The room is nice.

“Need me to go with you?” she asks.

Charlie shakes her head.

Lexa would follow her, tell her to lay down some toilet paper so she wouldn’t have to sit because she doesn’t know whose sat there before…but she doesn’t. She’s exhausted. And with her ex-wife lying prone on a hospital bed and her ex-wife's boyfriend sitting next to her…it all just puts in perspective how bad it could really be to use a semi-public hospital bathroom.

“Are you okay?” Finn asks. It shakes Lexa out of her own head.

She doesn’t know how to answer. She can’t tell him how she feels. (That as long as Clarke isn’t okay, there’s not a way she can be.)

“Yes,” she tells him. “Yes, it’s just- she looks so still.”

Clarke’s chest rises up and down, but apart from that, there’s not much movement, anywhere.

“I know,” Finn tells her. 

“And isn’t it bad? To sleep after a concussion?”

“No, not really,” Finn says. “People think it is but it’s fine, if her pupils are fine and she can walk…sleep is actually good. Helps the brain heal faster.”

Lexa nods. He drives an ambulance. Does that mean he’s an EMT? Lexa doesn’t know. She guesses he knows more about injuries than she does. (She wonders despite herself if that’s something they have in common? Clarke never liked reading as much as she did, and Lexa never quite understood how to get close to people so easily. Clarke didn’t just have patients, but she made friends. She called people she’d operated on to tell them happy birthday. Is Finn like that, too?)

“Okay,” she says. Charlie walks out of the bathroom, shaking her hands dripping water. “She’s a heavy sleeper anyways,” Lexa mentions, and isn’t sure why.

“I know,” Finn tells her. And she doesn't know if it was meant to- but it stings. She sits back and lets it wash over her, like the rest of the day.  And she waits.

Time passes differently in hospitals, Lexa has always known that.

She felt it when her dad was in chemo, how -for how quick the visits felt- they seemed to cause so much damage. She felt it during her pregnancy, how long the waiting seemed before they could hear the heartbeat of their little pickle. Only 10 minutes pass between Charlie walking out of the bathroom, curling up on her lap to play with her cell phone, and falling asleep. It feels like an hour, because all the while Clarke isn’t waking up, and she’s thinking about Finn sitting next to her,  and whether she should wake Clarke even though the doctor told them to let her rest. She knows she won’t. She doesn’t know if she has the power to, anyways. (Whose more important here? The ex-wife or the current boyfriend? )

She fixes Charlie in her lap and waits.

There’s a knock on the door a second or a lifetime later, and then Abby is stepping into the room before Lexa has time to look up. She doesn’t stand up, Charlie curled on her lap.

“Oh, Clarke,” Abby lets out. But she doesn’t seem worried, not more than they are, and that more than anything lets Lexa relax, just a tad.

“Lexa,” Abby greets. “...Finn.

“M’am.”

Lexa called her that too, the first time they met. On hindsight, she should have worn sleeves, because Abby saw her armband and didn’t tell her to call her by her name until the third time Clarke brought her home.

“Lexa, can we speak outside?”

She follows after her.

“I spoke to her doctors. She’s progressing just fine. They kept her overnight because of her head mostly, her leg isn’t serious. She’ll have to wear the cast for 2 months tops.”

Lexa wrings her hand against her jeans as she nods. They’re so cold.

“That’s a relief,” she says.

Abby takes a step closer to her.

“Lexa…What is Finn doing here?” she asks. “When I heard they broke up, I just thought-”

“They what?”

Abby looks at her. Charlie sleeps on her shoulder. And Lexa’s heart drums harder for just a beat.

“You didn’t know.”

“I called him,” Lexa says. “I thought…I thought Clarke would want him there. I didn’t know- and he didn’t say.”

“Of course he wouldn’t,” Abby says, pursing her lips. Lexa feels shame. She did the same thing. She’s not corrected a single person that thought she was Mrs.Griffin when she walked through those doors.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“No, it’s alright. Clarke didn’t tell you.”

Lexa thinks back to that night at her apartment, the anniversary of the miscarriage. When did they broke up? She’d been so drunk and desperate that night, so lost and in love with Clarke, she had tried to kiss her. And in the morning, red hot shame had kept her from acknowledging what had happened.

Because Clarke was dating someone else. Clarke had surely moved on.

Would her actions have been different if she'd been aware that it was over? She doesn’t know.

But it scares her, because a minute ago she wasn’t thinking the things she’s thinking now. Thinking about losing Clarke, about how she loves her, about how she could swear in her inebriated state that the way Clarke cared for her meant more than it actually did. She’s thinking all these thoughts and there’s nothing in the way to stop her, not a single road block in sight -apart from two years apart and a world of pain between them.

No second chances.

“Why would she have told me?” she asks Abby. “Until recently we weren’t exactly on the best of terms.”

“Stop that,” Abby tells her.

“We weren’t…we were trying, but we weren’t good. What if something worse had happened?” The way tears flood her eyes, and her throat gets rough, takes her by surprise. The thought is brutal and relentless as it worms its way into her brain. What if Clarke had died?

“She’s going to be just fine,” Abby tells her. “You know that, right? A fractured leg is nothing compared to what could have happened.”

Lexa nods. She knows it’s true. She drove over in a frenzy even after hearing it wasn’t serious, but Clarke was unconscious  and it was protocol to call next of kin. That’s what they said. And she tried to believe it. She’s still trying. 

But being so close to Clarke has always been her undoing. 

If she stays by her side, there’s no telling what she’ll do when Clarke wakes. All her brain is saying is to hold her hand and to not let go.

“I should take Charlie home,” Lexa offers. “You should stay with your daughter.”

Abby looks at her and presses her lips together.

“I think we made it clear you’re my daughter too, Lexa,” she says. Lexa can’t help but let a watery smile paint her lips. “And I think you want to stay here,” Abby tells her. “I think you need it more than me.”

Lexa looks up at her.

She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t think there’s anything to say, when Abby has her pinned so well. Lexa doesn’t even know if it’s because her former mother-in-law knows her so well, or the need to stay beside Clarke is just etched on her face, but she doesn’t care. 

She nods.

“Thank you,” she tells Abby, and presses a kiss to Charlie’s hair before passing her sleeping daughter over to her grandmother.

“I can talk to Finn if you want,” Abby offers.

Lexa shakes her head. “I’ll do it. Knowing Clarke she’ll probably let him check in on her at least, anyway.”

“That’s our girl, isn’t she?” Abby asks. And Lexa tries not to shiver at the mention of Clarke being something of hers. Lexa nods. She hugs Abby goodbye.

And then she walks back inside the room.

“Why didn’t you tell me you broke up?” 

It’s the first thing that leaves her dry lips somehow, when she steps back inside. She isn’t loud. It’s just a question. But there’s annoyance brewing inside her chest. She feels stupid for asking him to come. (For worrying about his future with Clarke and Charlie, when that was already off the cards.)

“Would you have let me be here if I had?” He asks.

Lexa shakes her head.

“And that’s not fair,” Finn tells her. “I care about her just as much as you do.”

Lexa grits her teeth. 

“I doubt that.”

“We’re in the same position, don’t you see that?”

Lexa wants to tell him no. She was married to Clarke. They were together for over a decade. They share a child. It’s different. But when she looks at the situation, the bare bones of it, she loves Clarke and they’re not together, and Lexa has no real right to sit in this room. If Abby hadn’t had an in with the people up high she’s pretty sure they would have told them both that it’s family only…and neither of them fit that bill.

Lexa did once upon a time, but not anymore.

She goes to answer Finn, but the door opening interrupts her train of thought. A young man comes in, fresh-faced and clean shaved, holding a folder in his hands.

“Mrs. Griffin-Woods? Your wife’s biopsy came back.”

Lexa’s heart stops. She feels it sink through her body and slam against the tiles.

“Her what?”

The last time she felt this dizzy she was a kid and her mom was in an accident. The last time her throat constricted this tight she was in college and her own father’s biopsy results had come back.  

“Excuse me, did you say biopsy?” Finn asks, and the man -an intern, Lexa guesses- pales. The young man stands there looking like he’s fucked up while her ears ring. She’s frozen.

“What did you say? She got a biopsy done?” Finn continues questioning him. “For what?”

“I, I-” He stutters through a response. “I need to talk to my superiors. Excuse me.” He bolts from the room.

Lexa breaths hard. There isn’t blood pumping through her veins but rather ice cold water. A biopsy. She remembers her dad, remembers how it started.

She can’t lose Clarke.

Tears rise to her eyes and close her throat, a hundred times worse than before. She knew Clarke was alright. After hearing the words ‘biopsy’ she knows nothing. She’s been here before, and the future is an unexplored wasteland. So many things could go wrong.

And she can't lose Clarke. She won’t survive. 

A groan reverberates through the hospital room. Lexa whips her head to the bed, where Clarke’s eyes just begin to open.

She starts breathing again.

“Clarke!”

Finn gets to her side before she does.

“Clarke, can you hear me?” he asks. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

And then Lexa is there, and she dares take one of Clarke’s cold hands between her own.

“Clarke.”

She opens her eyes, and never has Lexa felt like she’s drowning and learning to breathe at the same time, before this moment. Everything is the blue in Clarke’s eyes.

“Lexa…?”

Lexa’s hand flies to Clarke’s cheek, her thumb caressing her skin.

She can’t help it.

She’s nursed Clarke through too many illnesses, cooked her bowls of tomato soup she hated, taken her temperature with the back of her hand too many times while Clarke shaked her head at the fact that it wasn’t a proper way to tell if she had a fever. She’s taken care of her through too many hangovers, those nights in college where she partied a little too hard and woke up with a screwed up stomach, and that one memorable wedding anniversary they celebrated in New York City.

She’s looked after her too much not to do it now, not to feel her cold skin under her hand and have her stomach twist in knots. She doesn’t even look at Finn, although she feels his eyes on her. 

She just looks at Clarke.

“Clarke,” she breathes out, feeling every muscle in her body release tension. 

“Where- Charlie! I was-”

“Shhh,” Lexa whispers, far too intimate for the setting and what they are to one another. She doesn’t care. “It’s okay, she’s with your mom. I picked her up from school. She’s fine.”

Clarke settles down.

“Do you know where you are?” she asks. 

Clarke nods as much as she’s able while lying down.

“The hospital. I crashed the car. I…I don’t remember falling asleep.”

Lexa frowns.

“I should call the doctor,” she says quietly, staring between the two of them. 

“No!” Clarke exclaims, her hand flying to cover Lexa’s own on her face. “Stay.”

Lexa couldn’t move if her life depended on it. Clarke has an IV in her hand, and the sight hurts her. For a doctor, Clarke was always a little squeamish. Shots, needles. She couldn’t even help Charlie with loose teeth. Squeamish only when it came to herself, or her family. Charlie. Lexa. Lexa had to get a rabies vaccine once, when a strange dog bit he during one of her morning runs, and she’d wanted Clarke to do it. Her wife refused. 

She told her she couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her, even if it was for her own good.

“I’ll call him,” Finn says. Only then does Clarke seem to notice him, twisting her head to look at him and then groaning with the effort.

Lexa nods at Finn. He leaves without looking back.

“My neck is sore,” Clarke groans, still frowning. She looks at the door, and then at Lexa. “Is he…”

“I called him. Sorry." Lexa feels her very skin seemingly shrink with how hard she cringes. "I didn’t…I didn’t know you to had...”

Clarke looks up at her, and there’s something in her expression Lexa can’t quite read. She’s lacking practice.

“It’s okay,” she says. “I didn’t tell you. Actually, not even Charlie knows yet. I’ve been figuring out a way to tell her.” Clarke chuckles bitterly. “It’s not her fault her mom sucks at relationships.”

Lexa feels the words like a pang in her chest.

“We didn’t suck,” she tells Clarke. Clarke looks away. Lexa does too. She can’t bear to see reflected in Clarke’s eyes even the shadow of a suggestion that she’s wrong. That maybe they were horrible together, that right then towards the end they hurt each other too much.

That it can’t be fixed.

Now more than ever she’s thinking about it, wishing, hoping. 

Clarke coughs.

“Can you- Can you help me get the bed-”

“Of course,” she says, hurrying to press the button that will get Clarke sitting up. 

“Okay?” she asks, when Clarke is finally sitting straight. Lexa hadn’t paid attention to it before, the brace on her neck. Clarke would call it a soft collar. Lexa only remembers the name of the thing because Charlie pointed out a woman with one once, when they visited the hospital during Clarke’s lunch hour and brought her food. Charlie had misheard her and asked if dog collars were also for people. 

She hates the thing now. It looks foreign on Clarke, strange. It intensifies everything she’s been feeling since she set foot inside the room. She’s terrified.

“Do I look that bad?” Clarke asks, her voice already a little stronger. 

Lexa takes a step back, shaking her head.

“You okay?”

Lexa looks up.

“You’re the one in a hospital bed,” she says, staring straight at Clarke.  She takes in her bruises in the bright sterile light. She’s worried to death, but she’s almost angry now. Not because of the accident, but because of what that intern said. Is she sick? Why didn’t she tell her? 

A biopsy for what?

 “I guess you’re right,” Clarke jokes. Lexa doesn’t find it funny. “Does Charlie know? Did you tell her-”

“She was here,” Lexa lets her know, putting her own objections aside because she knows Charlie is always their first concern. “She left with your mom a little while ago.”

“Oh. Did they let her up?”

“I didn’t care,” Lexa tells her. “She needed to see you.”

Clarke smiles softly, and it almost seems to soften the dark, bruised skin around her eye. Lexa swallows.

“I needed to see you.”

The smile fades from Clarke’s face, replaced by that same expression Lexa can’t pin down.

“You scared me,” Lexa says. It’s so much more than that, it encompasses farther than she can explain, but it’s the only phrase that leaves her tightening throat.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke says. “I was…The hospital called, and I answered, and I know driving and talking on the phone is a shitty move I just-”

“You have a 7 year old daughter, Clarke,” Lexa says, hating the way her voice rises up. She doesn’t want to fight -but she was terrified. (And she’d told Clarke, for as long as they were together, to stop driving and texting, or driving and speaking on the phone. She’d told her even voice notes counted, and had threatened more than once to chuck her phone out of the car.)

Clarke’s eyes fill with tears. Lexa immediately wants to take it back.

“I know,” Clarke answers. “The hospital called and it-  it couldn’t wait.”

“Why?” She asks. She wonders if it wasn’t ‘the hospital’ as in her place of work, and rather this hospital, with the results for a biopsy that Lexa never knew about. Maybe it’s not her place, she thinks briefly. They’re not together anymore, Clarke doesn’t owe her anything. But they share a daughter, and if Clarke is sick that affects Charlie. (If Clarke is sick, she doesn’t know what she’ll do.)

Clarke falters.

And then she doesn’t answer at all, when the doctor comes back, Finn hot on his heels.

“Mrs.Griffin, you’re awake.”

Lexa takes a step back, realizing just how close they’d gotten. Clarke looks scared when the doctor steps up to her bed, and Lexa’s hand twitches with the need to hold hers -she doesn’t. 

“How are we feeling?” The doctor asks, before turning around. “Do you both mind if I get a few minutes with Mrs.Griffin? I’m just going to check her reflexes and ask a few questions, I’ll call you back as soon as we’re done.”

Lexa nods dumbly. 

She files after Finn out the door.

It isn’t even closed before Finn is turning around, his expression the furthest thing from what she’s seen so far. His face is red. He looks…insulted. Angry. 

“What was that in there?” He demands.

“What?”

“What we walked into,” he clarifies, and Lexa feels her face heat up at the obvious accusation in his voice.

“Nothing,” she says, hating the feeling that she’s defending herself. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Clarke breaking up with me and suddenly being all over you.”

Lexa feels shock run through her at his words. It’s quickly replaced with anger.

“She was in a car accident, how could she possibly be all over me?” she asks. “And would it matter if she was?” She adds it because she can’t help it. He doesn’t own Clarke. Lexa was with her for ten years and she never owned Clarke. She’s her own person, she makes her own choices. Finn's voice grates her every last nerve.

Finn stares back at her.

“I knew it was because of you,” he says.

“What are you talking about?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Things were going great, you know? And then out of the blue she starts trying to ‘be civil’ with you and then I get dumped. Big coincidence don’t you think?”

Lexa clenches her fists.

She hasn’t gotten physical with anyone since college. She’s a lawyer, a mother. She won’t start again now. But god, she wants to.

“You had a kid together, but it's over Lexa.”

Lexa takes a deep breath. She knows it’s over, but she refuses his finality. Most of all, refuses the possessive quality of his voice. Like he knows -like he even has any idea what she and Clarke meant to each other, like he gets to talk about their relationship in the least. She closes her eyes in an effort to ground herself.

“It’s not even your kid, really.”

Lexa’s eyes pop open.

“What did you just say?”

She sees red.

Her feet take a step forward before she even realizes she’s commanded them to. Finn raises his hands in defeat, but its futile, because she already has her forearm pressing him to the wall behind him.

“What did you just say?” she repeats. 

“I-”

She makes a fist around the fabric of his shirt. His hand closes around her wrists, and maybe he’s stronger than he looks but Lexa doesn’t care and she doesn’t let go. She doesn’t think about the fact they’re in the hallway of a hospital, either. 

Charlie is everything to her. Her daughter is everything to her. And she’s not about to let anyone question that fact.

“Charlie is my daughter. Clarke’s daughter. She’s nothing to you. You hear that? She’s mine. My kid, my family.” Both of them, she’s thinking. Her family, her people. Once upon a time she and Clarke belonged to each other and she knows that time is over, but lately she’s come to realize her heart didn’t get that memo. 

“Clarke is not your wife anymore though, you realize that?” he says. He stares at her, gasping, his hands around her forearm and his eyes darting between her face and arm, as though considering whether she was going to hit him or not.

Lexa knows he’s right, on a logical level, but all her body wants is to punch him in the face. 

“Why can’t you just let go of her?” Finn asks again. “We had a good thing going on and you-”

“You don’t know her,” she says viciously. They’d been together for a few months, who the fuck did he think he was? Not only to demand something of her, as if he had any right, but to believe he was enough. Lexa can see in his eyes that he believed that. He wasn’t. She doubts there’s anyone good enough for Clarke, and she knows for a fact there’s no one in the planet good enough to be her daughter’s parent. But Lexa had tried like hell doing both.

Years. A decade. She and Clarke didn’t just have ‘something good going on’, they had a life together. They were each other’s lives. 

“I love her,” he says defiantly, and Lexa wants to laugh, wants to find a way to expel the bitterness that’s taken room inside her chest. 

“You don’t. You don’t love her enough to respect her last marriage,” she spits out. Clarke would be seething, she’s sure of it, if anyone even suggested she wasn’t Charlie’s real mom. “You don’t respect her enough to believe she can make her own choices.”

He looks insulted, taken aback. Surprise spreads across his face, and Lexa -breathing hard, leaning over this man- doesn’t know when she became someone different. When she lost her voice or her drive or her instinct to fight. It had always been there. It had defined her when she was young. 

When did she become someone people would be surprised would speak up, fight back?

(She knows, deep down. That day 2 years ago when she lost their baby. She stopped fighting then, let the darkness and the pain envelope her and drag her down. She’s done with it.)

“You want me to think this isn’t because of you,” he asks, spit flying from his lips.

“I don’t care why she broke up with you,” she tells him. Lexa doesn’t let herself hope that he might be right and Clarke might still -no. She won’t think about that. “I don’t know either, but she did. And you need to respect that. Respect her.”

Finn splutters.

“Is there a problem?” The words shake her out of her fury. She looks to her side, only to find an old nurse staring her down. “Do I need to call security?” 

Lexa takes a step back.

She doesn’t want to. She’s never been one to resort to violence, but she wasn’t afraid to use it if the occasion arose. This is not that time, though, she knows that. So she backs down.

“Well? M’am?”

She looks back at Finn, who meets her eyes with a disgust that she’s surprised by. Maybe Lexa should know by now, how grief brings out the worst in people. Still, the way he shakes her arm off and straightens out his shirt blindsides her. She watches him leave. She feels the nurse’s eyes on her back the whole time.

“Was that man hurting you?” The nurse asks, and Lexa only settles for rolling her eyes. She’s the one who had him on a choke hold against the wall, after all.

“I’m fine,” she says, getting her breathing under control. She’s still incensed by his comment about Charlie, but Lexa isn’t a 20-something new mom anymore. She knows better now. She’d doubted herself, back then. Wondering if she was just as good as Clarke, if Charlie would love her just as much. She’d been ecstatic when Clarke decided to go back to world and she got to stay home with Charlie. She doesn’t question herself anymore. 

Her daughter is the only solid place Lexa knows in a world full of fault lines.

Her head snaps to the right at the sound of a door opening. Clarke’s doctor walks out, nods at her, and then heads towards the nurse’s station without another word. Lexa’s mind circles back to the biopsy she had no idea about, and she enters Clarke’s room again without a second thought.

"Where’s Finn?” Clarke asks. 

Lexa freezes.

In the past 5 minutes she’d thought a lot about Clarke, but never about exactly what Clarke would think. She sits down by her bed.

“Did he leave?” she asks again, then sighs. “Can’t say I blame him.”

Lexa looks up at her. She doesn’t want to make Clarke angry at her. She thinks back to her behavior in the hallway and she believes she was more than justified to slam her ex-wife’s ex-boyfriend against a wall, but she’s still wary. She’s worried sick because they were in a good spot, and Lexa doesn’t want to go back to the endless fighting. Not now and not ever. But she also doesn’t want to feel pathetic and rat out Finn to Clarke, complain about what he said. She’s just not comfortable with that.

“Actually…” To hell with it. “Do you remember Cody from our sophomore year of college?”

They don’t usually talk about the past. After the divorce, neither of them ever brought up their shared lives together if it didn’t include Charlie, and even then, they strictly stuck to current topics. No point in rehashing her first word. Or talking about the first time they got drunk together in college. They acted like all those years had never happened. 

Lexa doesn’t feel restrained now, as if she needs to shy away from that. So she mentions it, one of the handful of times she’s ever gotten physical with someone, probably one of two times she’s done it in front of Clarke. (Clarke had always brought a sense of tranquility to Lexa that she’d never been able to find elsewhere.)

He’d been an asshole. Cody, that is. A frat boy, because of course he was. He violently smelled of Axe body spray, and she swerved him when she could when she visited Clarke’s dorm room building. One night, when they were coming home after a night out dancing -Clarke was wearing the most deliciously short black dress- he was sitting outside his room, slumped in a chair. It was one of their first few dates together, not so new that it wasn’t serious, but new enough that they were still testing out the word ‘girlfriend’ and the boundaries of Lexa sleeping over.

Cody had been sitting outside, drinking, and when he saw them arrive, he immediately perked up. That would have been it, except as Clarke walked in front of him, he decided to utter a few…choice words. Lexa had him on the floor on his back before he could really extend his hand to cop a feel.

“Yeah,” Clarke affirms, sitting up. “That’s the guy you- wait, why?” She looks at Lexa, and understanding dawns on her face. She looks to the door and then her gaze darts back at Lexa. “What did Finn do?”

Lexa opens her mouth and -stops.

What did he do. Not ‘what did you do’ or ‘why did you do it’. Clarke was asking about whatever he’d done to get on her bad side. Lexa finds every ounce of defensiveness draining from her body. Clarke is on her side. 

It’s a feeling she’s missed. 

“Oh, Lexa. What happened?” 

She stares at Clarke. Looks at her bruised face and prostrate figure, and she knows it’s not the time.

“Nothing. It didn’t go far,” she assures her. “He just didn’t take it well when I…told him something. The truth.”

“What truth?”

That he doesn’t know you, Lexa thinks. That he never did. That even if he loved you he didn’t love you right.

Not like me, her heart adds, and Lexa is too tired to stop it. She’s been trampling it down for far too long and she’s exhausted. It’s true too, she believes that. And she’s consumed with worry enough to admit it to herself. She could love Clarke right this time- if there’s another time. 

If Clarke still loves her, still wants her. Lexa will be there. She’ll never leave her alone. 

(It’s almost funny, how she wanted to be left alone so long ago, how she desired that enough that she left her home, and now there’s nothing she wouldn’t do to offer the same comfort she once refused to accept.)

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks, changing the subject. Finn isn't important right now. Maybe he never was, if the way Clarke lets her off the hook so easily is anything to go by. She can’t help the way her voice hardens as she asks the question. It’s a self defense mechanism at this point. She’s always hidden her vulnerability from the world, and old habits die hard.

“Tell you what?” Clarke asks, sitting up slightly.

“You know what,” Lexa tells her. “Don’t play dumb.” She doesn’t mean to be so harsh, but she can feel a buzzing in the back of her head -like a hornet’s nest has taken residence up there. She’s too worried to care. Too concerned. 

Clarke bites her lip. 

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Clarke says.

“Worry me?” Lexa asks, disbelieving.  "Clarke. You could be sick, you could have- and you didn’t tell -does your mom know?"

She thinks of Abby, letting her stay with Clarke and going home with Charlie. Did she know, all this time? Was she privy to something so monumentally important and didn't think to tell her?

"No." 

"Raven then-"

"Lexa! It wasn’t just you I kept in the dark," Clarke says, and Lexa hates the way she backs down slightly. She has no right to feel this way, but she felt incensed that everyone might know something was wrong and she was the only one who wasn't aware. Like she was the least important person to Clarke. Like she didn't deserve to know -and she probably didn't, truth be told. 

"It was everyone," Clarke tells her. I just…I couldnt be a burden to everyone, have everyone worrying when I’m not even sure if I’m sick yet."

"You don’t know-"

"No. That’s what the biopsy is about. If I knew I was sick I would’ve told you, for Charlie-"

Lexa nods. Because of Charlie.

"But I didn’t know," Clarke explains. "I still don’t know."

Lexa is hit with one blinding realization then. She can't lose Clarke because she loves her, godamnit. She's in love with her. Ten years together, the laughter and the pain, their daughter, everything -it all stacks up and Lexa determines that losing Clarke would kill her.

For the second time in two years her world is falling apart.

She lost a baby and somehow she survived, even if the grief took her joy and her marriage. But if she loses Clarke she won’t survive. She knows she has to for Charlie but..just the thought that Clarke could have the same disease that took her father makes Lexa’s blood run freezing cold through her veins.

No, not Clarke. 

She loves her. Not someone else she loves.

 

 

                                                            _______

 

 

 “Is this why you reacted that way when you found out about me moving…? You knew you might be sick, even back then?”

No, Clarke thinks, I don't want you to leave because I love you.

She nods. Because Lexa deserves as much.

“You should have told me,” Lexa tells her, her brow twisted in a frown. “How…When did you…”

“The pain started a while ago. Or maybe that’s just when I noticed, I’m not really sure.”

“When?”

To Clarke, it feels like a hundred years have passed since she realized how much it hurt to do something as simple as huggin her daughter, but she knows it hasn't really been that long.

“After Charlie’s birthday party.”

“Clarke, that was two months ago.” 

Maybe it was long enough.

“At first I thought…” She thought she was pregnant, because that’s the only other time in her life when her breast had ached the way it did. But she’s not going to tell Lexa that. Their every interaction is an exercise in caution, and she appreciates the soft understanding they have arrived at too much to compromise it. “I don’t know. That it was nothing. But then it got worse so I waited until you had Charlie for a long weekend to go to the doctor. He, huh, he knew me from my years as a resident. He asked about you, actually.”

 Clarke doesn’t know the exact moment when her voice changes, when it gets thinner and tear filled, trembling like water on a stream. All she knows is that it feels good to finally say it all out loud. And not just to anyone, but to Lexa, who stares back at her with worry and -is it love?- shining out of her eyes. 

That alone brings Clarke to tears.

“I had an ultrasound done,” she keeps telling her. “And I don’t know why I thought that would be it, because it never is. He referred me to someone else at this breast clinic, and a few weeks later I got the biopsy done.” It feels like a thousand pounds are off her shoulders. She’s felt so lonely, even surrounded by people, keeping everything that was happening to her close to her vest.

With Lexa’s warm green eyes set on her, she doesn’t feel alone anymore. She never could.

“You should’ve told me,” Lexa says, and Clarke aches because her voice sounds the same as her. They’re both crumbling at the edges.

“You were leaving,” Clarke says, and that’s when the first tear falls down her cheek. She can’t help it, and she’s feeling too much to be embarrassed about it. “I didn’t- You were busy and I didn’t want to add more to your plate -with Charlie,” she adds. “There was no reason to worry yet, without the results.”

She didn’t want to be burden, a problem to solve. Maybe it’s presumptuous of her, but she didn’t want to affect Lexa’s decision in any way. Maybe it’s delusional, to believe that after all these time Lexa would care -but one look at her tells Clarke she does. Her eyes, her very demeanor, it tells her Lexa’s feelings haven’t changed. The almost kiss they had under the cover of the night, when she was intoxicated, only confirms that. 

And that’s why it’s so much harder for Clarke to pretend to be fine. 

She’s scared out of her mind, but she knows Lexa would stay to comfort her, whatever the results were, and she can’t tie her down like that. They were toxic to each other, those last few weeks. She can’t let herself think of her comfort and how much she craves it, and not in these circumstances. 

“No reason to worry? What do you think I am right now?”

Clarke doesn’t have anything to say to that.

“It’s not just about Charlie, is it?” Lexa asks, and Clarke feels a shock run through her system. “It’s about me.”

“Lexa…” She’s breathless. She isn't ready for this, isn't ready for Lexa to call her out and for them to get everything out in the open. It feels like marching to war without weapons. But Lexa doesn't wait. 

“Because I still love you.”

Her breath catches in her throat, as two mirror tears fall from her eyes. Lexa looks at her steadily, her own eyes wet, and Clarke wants to -needs to- stand up from this bed and chase that look away. 

“You didn’t want to be the reason I stayed.”

Clarke bites her lip and nods. She’s weighed down by the collar around her neck and the pain of the bruises and the IV in her hand, but she’s never felt as light as she does, the confirmation that she still has Lexa’s love floating in the air.

“I never stopped loving you,” Clarke blurts out. It leaves her throat like a bird escaping from a cage its been trapped in for too long. She’s done letting her ribcage be a prison for everything she’s feeling. Regardless of the consequences, she needs to let it out.

The expression in Lexa’s face leaves her breathless. But it’s nothing compared to the feeling that ignites her chest the following moment, when Lexa steps forward and their lips meet in a kiss two years overdue.

 

 

                                                           _______

 

 

It feels like electricity.

Lexa is buzzing with the taste of Clarke on her lips. She doesn’t know how she got here, doesn’t understand what she was thinking to say or do this but she’s glad, because she’s breathing easier than she has ever since that day she walked out of their home. Clarke’s arms around her last week, when she was at her lowest, don’t hold a candle to the feel of her lips against hers, just as desperate as she is.

She drags oxygen in through her nose, even if it doesn’t feel like enough, because she can’t bear to part with Clarke’s lips not even for a second.  She's all warmth and wet heat when she opens her mouth. Clarke tastes like iron, like she did during her time with a busted lip back in college, like when she bit her own lip during Charlie's birth. It makes Lexa firmly aware of what Clarke went through today, of her broken leg and her bruises and she sinks even further into the kiss, rife with gratitude that it's happening at all. It tastes of wounds and memories and for so long Lexa felt those were two and the same. 

She doesn't feel that now. All she feels is connected to Clarke, all she sees behind her closed lids is their past behind them and the possibility of a future -together- sprawling in front.

 Her hands make their way from Clarke’s cheek down to her neck, and her fingers meet the soft fabric of the collar she’s wearing. Clarke hisses, and Lexa sharply pulls away.

Clarke looks up at her, blue eyes wet.

“Lexa…”

“I’m sorry,” she says right away. She’s not sure what she’s apologizing for, if the kiss or the way she accidentally hurt her, but the words leave her lips regardless. 

“Don’t!” Clarke’s hands nearly claw at her arms, bringing her back as much as she can from her position on the bed. Lexa gives in and takes a step closer. “Don’t apologize.”

A tears makes its way down Clarke’s cheek, and it tugs at Lexa’s heartstrings. She never wants to see her cry. She’s sorry she was ever the reason why -that they ever hurt each other enough to the point of tears. But no more. Not if she can help it.

She wipes the offending droplet away, and Clarke doesn’t let her pull her hand back, pressing her against her wet cheek instead. 

“What are we doing?” she asks. She can’t not to. Because this is what her most private, secret dreams usually look like, and she half expects to wake up and find herself in her cold bed, alone. “Clarke, what’s this?” she 

“I don’t know. But I love you. I love you so much and I’m sorry and I- That’s all I know.”

It doesn’t shock her system any less the second time around. Her entire body comes to live at the soft words, and the even softer voice they’re delivered in.

“And that’s why-” Clarke takes a breath. “That’s why this shouldn’t change anything.”

“What are you talking about?” Lexa asks, the warmth in her chest pulsating with fear.

“I don’t want your decision to change, regardless of what the diagnosis is.”

She doesn’t understand the words that leave Clarke’s lips.  She could never leave. She- she loves her. And Clarke still loves her. It’s all so very simple in Lexa’s head.

“Do you…Do you think I could move and leave you again? Like this?” It was a mistake the first time, Lexa accepts that, and the only reason she was about to try and rebuild her life in Pennsylvania is because she thought her life here was over. That there was nothing left for her but bad memories and strangers that used to be friends. But she’s getting back her friends, little by little. And now…

Now she might have back her love. It’s all so simple. Her life is here. Half of her world left in Abby’s arms an hour ago, and the other half is looking up at her from a hospital bed, bruised. 

“I already left once,” Lexa tells her. “I shouldn’t have, I should have stayed with you. I'm not leaving you.”

Clarke shakes her head, before she quickly winces. Lexa stops her, a gentle hand to her cheek. She grasps her hands with her free one.

“We don’t have to talk about it right now,” she tells her. She’s still buzzing and it feels like her blood is rushing through her veins at a hundred miles an hour, but she knows they have more important things to discuss -like the results of said tests. “What did the doctor tell you?” she asks. “About the biopsy? Did they-”

“They called me to tell me the results today. I was driving and...it all happened so fast."

Lexa feels a quick flash of anger, that Clarke would be so irresponsible to try and answer the phone, but its quickly overshadowed by her relief that she’s here and she’s okay.  

“I don’t even know what I did,” Clarke says. “One second I was digging for my phone and the other the car was lurching forward and the brakes wouldn’t work. I swerved against a wall so I wouldn’t hit anyone else.”

Lexa nods, her thumb rubbing circles against Clarke’s skin.

“It doesn’t matter now,” she tells her.

“I- huh-” Clarke looks away. 

“What’s wrong?” Lexa asks, using her hand still on her cheek to get her to look at her. She would have thought touching Clarke so intimately after so long would feel strange or out of place, but it’s as natural as breathing. As though no time has passed.

“I’m sorry if it’s selfish but I..I wanted you here with me,” Clarke says, looking up at her. “When they give me the results, I need you to-”

“I’m here.” 

She was needed before, and she let her own grief isolate her, take her from her family. And Lexa might not know exactly where she and Clarke stand now, but much like her ex-wife, all Lexa knows is that she loves her. 

It’s that love that keeps her rooted to the spot while a nurse pages Clarke’s doctor, staring head on at one of her worst fears. The fear she might be feeling is nothing compared to Clarke’s, and so Lexa stands there, where she’s needed, where she’s loved, knowing without a shadow of doubt for the first time in a long time that she’s doing the right thing. She wasn’t sure about leaving, so long ago. She wasn’t sure about leaving, a few months ago. 

She’s sure about this.

The doctor steps into the room, and Lexa takes a step closer to Clarke, so close that she can feel the cold metal of the hospital bed through her jeans.

“Mrs.Griffin,” he greets Clarke, and then offers Lexa a small, awkward smile. Lexa wonders if he thought about calling her ‘Mrs.Griffin’ as well, and didn’t because he wasn’t sure if that would be right. She briefly wonders how Clarke would have reacted to that. If she’ll be Mrs.Griffin-Woods again now that she and Clarke kissed. Is that what that meant? Are they trying again?

(Lexa’s brain has always run in a hundred different directions when she’s worried. She’s always lived on avoidance and isolation.) She promises herself right then and there to stop.

“First of all, about the question you asked before, Ms. Griffin-”

Clarke nods. Lexa takes hold of her hand.

“It’s not cancer.”

She thinks Clarke sighs in relief. She thinks the doctor offers them a polite smile. She’s not sure. The relief that rushes through her body is overpowering, blinding all her senses. Lexa breathes in, and her lungs expand unobstructed. It’s not what she feared the most. It’s not her dad all over again. 

Clarke looks up at her, and Lexa smiles, unbidden. She presses a kiss to her forehead and it’s the most natural thing in the world for her to do, her body does it out of flesh memory, even if as she pulls back she’s shocked she did it at all. Clarke doesn’t seem to mind. And neither does she.

The doctor clears his throat, gaining their attention back. 

Lexa feels her smiles slowly slip away from her lips. It’s not cancer.

But she knows it’s something, and there’s a multitude of somethings out in the world that can be deadly. They’re not out of the woods yet even if what she feared the most has been ruled out.

“What is it?” she asks, her voice low. She doesn’t want to crowd in, to take away Clarke’s voice or overstay her welcome. She doesn’t know how they work yet, how this -whatever it is- works. All she knows is that she will fight heaven itself if it means helping Clarke. 

The doctor presses his lips together.

“It’s, um, an intraductal papilloma.” He pulls out a few files from the brown envelope in his hands. Lexa frowns at the words. “It’s a non-cancerous tumor,” he explains.

Lexa’s stomach falls at the word.

“The most common symptom is nipple discharge, or bleeding,” he keeps talking, directed to Clarke now. “So it wasn't our first option to look into. Plus, the majority of people don’t experience pain, and not to the degree you did.”

She looks at Clarke, notices the way she swallows, hard, and uses the hand that is not tied down by an IV to push her hair away from her forehead. She doesn’t look that worried, and that more than anything helps Clarke breath easier. She knows Clarke. It’s been a while but she’s still familiar with her expressions, how the minutiae of emotions show up in her face.

Clarke was worried when Charlie was still breech 8 months into her pregnancy. She was worried -she remembers this achingly- when Lexa kept bleeding through pads after the miscarriage.

Clarke isn’t that worried now, that’s not what her frown means. Lexa cautiously lets herself hope that everything will be all right.

“The position of the mass as well was rather rare,” the doctor keeps talking, and Lexa tries to understand the jargon he’s spouting, even though suddenly all she wants is to be alone with Clarke. She needs to talk to her, needs her to explain what this means and what they’re doing, what they’ll tell Charlie -what they’ll be to each other.

Clarke’s kiss still makes her lips tingle, and her words are still fresh on her ears. Lexa didn’t dream it.

“When there’s only one tumor it’s usually small and closer to the nipple.” He pulls out an x-ray and hands it to Clarke, and even though she’s wearing a collar and is sitting up with the help of the bed, she looks a doctor, through and through. “Yours was a bit farther away, and of a slightly larger size. In this condition when that happens it’s usually in clusters of several tumors, but there was only one.”

Clarke nods along, and Lexa takes comfort in the fact that there’s only one tumor. It doesn’t sound good but she takes it to be better than several. Small mercies.

“That’s why we required a few more days of testing than usual,” the man say, and clasps his hands together. He regards them quietly, lips pressed together, the universal sign for listening. Waiting for them to ask questions. 

Clarke does.

“What are my options for treatment?” Clarke’s voice is strong and certain, miles away from the brittleness she heard as a result of her accident.

Lexa looks up at her in awe. She’s always known that Clarke was strong. She watched her give birth to their daughter, after all. But it shines out of her face now, as she stares down the unknown. Lexa squeezes her hand, and for a moment Clarke looks away from the doctor to offer her a grateful smile.

“Surgery,” the man says. “We can remove the tumor right away. Because of its size I’d prefer to keep you overnight, but it’s a simple procedure.”

Clarke nods.

It sounds to good to be true to Lexa, but she doesn’t want to think that, doesn’t care for tempting fate.

“I don’t want to worry you, Mrs.Griffin, but I’m obliged to inform you - multiple papillomas have been associated with a slightly higher risk of breast cancer in the future. In your case -I’ve already explained- it’s what we call a solitary papilloma. To be sure I’d recommend you to routinely perform breasts exams, but that’s something I recommend for all my patients.” He shrugs lightly. “At this point I don’t really see this lump meaning a higher risk of breast cancer.” 

“I understand.” Clarke tells him. “Thank you.” 

“Thank you,” Lexa repeats, and she doesn’t remember when she last sounded so honest. Maybe the last time Charlie gave her a drawing. The news the doctor delivers are a gift just the same as that.

“I’ll contact Dr.Lowry, I’m sure she’ll want to perform the procedure -but I hope we can get you into the ER in a few hours,” he tells Clarke. “I’ll be back in a bit if either of you have any questions. Are we good?”

They nod. Lexa feels drunk with relief. 

The entire afternoon has felt like a roller coaster. It's felt like that time she listened to Anya and went on a road trip with her to Montana, back before she met Clarke, and they cruised a part of I-90 that was deemed one of the most dangerous roads in the country. 

Picking up Charlie, getting the call about Clarke’s accident, learning about the biopsy and Clarke’s possible illness, getting to hear the results.  In a small frame of time her heart has been through the ringer, and she knows deep down that it isn’t over yet.

She turns to look at Clarke as soon as the doctor is out the door.

“You’re okay,” it’s the first thing she says. And if Clarke’s wet eyes are anything to show for it, the relief she’s feeling is nothing compared to her wif- her ex-wife. Her Clarke. Lexa doesn’t know where they stand. 

Doesn’t think, even if they wanted to be together again, that it would be that simple.

“Yeah,” Clarke whispers, laying back against the pillows.

“Do you want me to call your mom?” she asks immediately, standing up. “I can ask her to bring Charlie. She should see you before-”

Before surgery. It’s frightening to say, and even worse to consider. She hadn’t given any thought about it, but Clarke is going to go under a knife.

“Yeah,” Clarke tells her. “In a little bit. We have a few hours.” She looks steadily at her. “We should talk.”

Lexa’s heart lurches in her chest.

“Okay. Yes.”

She sits down again. 

“About before…”

“I’m not sorry,” Lexa says right away. She’s lost too much time being a coward, and she’s determined that it stops now. She should have handed Clarke those divorce papers back. She should have taken a look at herself and chosen to find help sooner. She should have fought. She’s fighting now.

Clarke gives her a small smile, and it gives Lexa hope that fighting won’t be for naught.   

 

 

 

“Me neither." Lexa's heart comes alive in her chest. She's felt it in the past few minutes more than she has in months. But it all still is offset by the knowledge that they could have been here months before, weeks before -that it took them so very long to be honest about what they wanted with each other. "I thought you were happy with Finn," she tells Clarke quietly. She'd wanted to move on so desperately because she thought Clarke already had. But if it was all a charade...

"I tried," Clarke admits. "I…I remember calling you when I was drunk. Telling you how I felt. It scared me. So I tried to move on, but I never could."

"I'm sorry." She's said it before, but she feels the need to keep saying it now, as her own actions become clearer.

"No, Lexa…"

"No, hear me out. I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry I let a few days turn into months."

Clarke shakes her head. 

"It wasn't just on you. You were grieving. And you…you were alone after you left." She bites her lip, and Lexa wants to stop that with her thumb, save the abused flesh more damage. "I will _always_ be sorry about that."

Lexa shrugs.

"It was my own fault."  

 

 

 

Clarke shakes her head, more vehemently than before even though the collar holds her back. 

"I’m the one who's sorry for letting you go. I’m sorry for letting my anger at you leaving stop me from trying to get you to come back." Tears find their way back to Clarke's voice, and it hurts. Clarke takes a deep breath, seemingly pulling herself together, and then looks up at her. "If I hadn't asked for the divorce…would you have returned? Eventually?" 

_Yes._ Lexa wants to tell her. _Yes,  I was better, I started seeing someone. I wanted to be a family again._  

But it's not the time. 

"You told me I couldn't live in the past," Lexa tells her, her mind flashing back to that night where she was at her lowest. "I don't want you to do that either." 

"I’m still sorry." 

Lexa still loves her. 

And Clarke loves her back, and that makes things so easy in her eyes. It fixes what was broken. It gives her hope. 

"It doesn't matter now," she tells her, her thumb moving to rub her hand.  

"Lexa..."

Her tentative tone makes her smile fade away. She thinks about her new job, and the lease in her apartment, and all the plans already set in motion -she knows what Clarke is going to say, she can read it in her eyes. 

“Trying to move was a mistake,” she says. She doesn’t care if she has an apartment waiting for her, if she’s cleaned up her office and her new one is ready for her, so many miles away. She’ll find a way to take it all back. 

Clarke shakes her head. 

“It’s what you what wanted,” she says. “It’s what you needed.” 

“Before,” Lexa intervenes. “Before…” _This._ But she doesn’t know quite what this is. “What are you saying?” 

And then she listens to what Clarke is saying, and as much as she doesn’t want to, the logical part of her brain knows what she says to be true. 

A part of her, deep down, agrees with her. 

Things could never be easy for her.

 

 

                                                                                                                          -------

 

 

 

 

_“She’s very good, it’ll be fine. I could even scrub in-”_

Charlie wakes little by little.

_“Yes, I know that’s not necessary. But I’m your mother.”_

Her grandma’s voice sounds worried over the phone, as as soon as she hears her mama’s name she shoots up. She rubs the back of her hand over eyes as she makes her way to the kitchen, where she can hear her grandma on the phone.

Charlie doesn’t even remember falling asleep.

She remembers curling up on the couch with Shadow, because it always made her feel better to hug him when she felt sad, but she doesn’t remember falling asleep. Her moms don’t even make her have nap time anymore, and she didn’t even feel tired, so it’s strange to wake up in her grandma’s couch hearing her worried voice.

At once it makes Charlie feel like something bad happened, that maybe the doctor was wrong and her mom won’t wake up again, and that’s the thought that makes her run the rest of the way to the kitchen.

“Charlie-”

“Is mama okay?” She asks, that bad feeling returning to her tummy.

“Yes, honey, she’s fine, I’m on the phone with her right now,” her grandma tells her, but it looks like she’s lying. One of those grown up lies, where they lie because they think she’s too small to understand and not to be mean. Charlie thinks that’s mean anyways. She doesn’t think her mama can even be on the phone.

“Did they give you a time? We can have dinner and then swing by the hospital. Me and Smith go way back, they won’t give us any trouble getting her up there.”

“Grandma.”

Her grandma pulls the phone away for a moment.

“One second Charlie,” she says. “Yeah, I’ll let her know. And don’t-”

“Grandma!”

“She’s desperate to talk to you,” her grandma says, and Charlie feels weird. She’s worried about her mom, she feels all weird and hurt inside, but she doesn’t know if she wants to pick up the phone.

“Charlie, do you want to speak to your mom?”

She looks at the cell phone in her grandma’s hand, and nods.

She takes it, and she wishes her knees didn’t feel like they can’t hold her up all of a sudden.

“Mama?”

“Hi, sweetie.”

She’s happy, so Charlie doesn’t know why she suddenly starts crying.

“ _Mama_.”

“Oh baby, no. Don’t cry. I’m okay.”

She wants to talk, but she doesn’t know what to say.

“Charlie, come here.”

She steps into her grandma’s hands, and her grandma takes the cell phone.

“No!” She tries to plead, but her mouth doesn’t work right.

“She’s…Yeah,” her grandma says over the phone. “I’m going to bring her over and maybe she can stay with Lexa -Okay. I’ll see you in a few. I love you.”

“Grandma-”

“Come here,” she says, and then she’s getting picked up even though her grandma groans. “We’re going to go see your mama, okay?”

Charlie nods. Okay.

 

 

  

The room looks the same as it did before.

It’s the same, but its different. Her mama is awake, and Charlie runs toward her as soon as she walks through the door. The bed is too tall for her to get on it by herself, so her mommy grabs her by the armpits and puts her on top of it, telling her to be very careful.

She’s crying again and she doesn’t really know why.

Nothing feels bad anymore.

Her mommy is rubbing her back and her mama is holding her tight, and if Charlie closes her eyes, it almost feels like that day at her birthday, dancing between the two of them. Things almost feels like they did before, before anything bad happened at all, before sadness touched them.

It feels to Charlie like everything is going to be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter to go for this fic! Thanks for sticking with it!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm sorry about the incredible wait for the ending of this fic. As you can see I extended the chapter count to 13, (which is not my favorite number to be honest, it's not aesthetically pleasing) but it's been a while and I wanted you to have something to read in the meantime. I promise the next update won't take this long. Quick thing, flashbacks are back this chapter. They're recent though, so I hope it won't be bothersome if you don't like them. (And they're need to understand where we're at right now! ;) )
> 
> PSA: If you like this fic and would like to re-read it I recommend you download it now, just in case it gets taken down. My account was reported and I might lose the fic.

 It’s easier to pack this time.

 Lexa hadn’t expected it to be. In fact, she’d thought it would be harder if anything -but it isn’t. It only takes her a day to have her entire apartment sitting neatly inside cardboard boxes. She’s not surprised. She’d never set roots down in this place, had only ever tried to turn it into a home in deference to Charlie. Her daughter’s room in the small, two bedroom apartment was the only place that held warmth for Lexa. After she’d packed it up, though, the space was as empty and cold as the rest of her apartment had remained from the moment Lexa began renting it. 

 It’s empty know, all of the boxes on the back of a large moving truck on their way to Philadelphia. Her car waits downstairs, to make the hour-and-a-half trip she’s mastered during the past month. She’s not sad, to be leaving this apartment that saw so many of her worst nights, but there’s still some melancholy in the air. She’d grown accustomed to being here. 

 The place had been small enough to make her feel safe, the balcony just open enough to keep her from feeling trapped. It had been what she needed, once upon a time. She’s past that now. And she wants to leave, she knows she needs to, but her fingers still itch to touch the walls one last time. 

 Charlie had taken pictures of her room and the apartment before declaring she liked her new one way better, even if it was very far away. Lexa did it now, in her own head. Her eyes scan across every surface, the white walls and the gray curtains that had come with the place, and she’d never bothered to change. It’s a welcome goodbye. Good riddance. 

 Her cell phone buzzes. She takes it out of her back pocket, a single text from Clarke lighting up her home screen. She reads it quickly, and then grabs her purse from the back a wooden chair. (Those, too, had come with the apartment.) 

 A quick look at the hour  lets her know she’s still on time and-

 She must have missed it.

 Between packing and signing her new lease and setting things up with the moving company. She didn’t have time to think about today’s date. 

 It’s their anniversary.

 Lexa presses her lips together, feeling emotion bubble up in her throat. There’s a certain irony to the date, isn’t there? They’d started a life together way before that day at the country house, but signing her name -her new name- next to Clarke’s had only cemented that. They were married, wives. For better or for worse.

They went through the worse.

Lexa remembers every sleepless night, every fight, every tear and scream they pulled out from the depths of each other in their shared pain and frustration. 

As she walks out from the apartment she feels like she's walking away from it. 

She locks the door after herself, pressing her hands against the wood one last time. She won’t be back here again. This chapter of her life is over. 

 

_ (August 21st, 2025.) _

 

 _“Trying to move was a mistake,” she says. She doesn’t care if she has an apartment waiting for her, if she’s cleaned up her office and her new one is ready for her, so many miles away. She’ll find a way to take it all back._  

 _Clarke shakes her head._  

 _“It’s what you what wanted,” Clarke says. “It’s what you needed.”_  

 _“Before,” Lexa intervenes. “Before…” This. But she doesn’t know quite what this is.  She loves Clarke, and she feels the same. It doesn’t change things but it feels monumental._  

 _“What are you saying?”_  

 _“I’m saying…you can’t just derail your plans.”_  

 _Lexa looks at Clarke, laying in the hospital bed, a bruise like a blooming violet covering her cheek, and she can’t quite believe her words. This isn’t merely a derailment. She had given up on it, but Clarke was her plan. She and Charlie were her world._  

 _Anything that concerns them isn’t a derailment because she realizes without them there is no path to walk, no solid ground at all._  

_ “Especially when we can’t just go back to the way things were,” Clarke adds. _

_ “I want to,” Lexa says firmly. _

_“Me too. More than anything. I never thought I’d hear you say…” Clarke rubs the back of her hands across her eyes as a brief smile lightens up her face, like the sun showing its face through thick clouds. “But it’s not going to bet that easy. We both know that.”_  

 _“I know,” Lexa says. They’ve been through too much to simply…forget. And she wouldn’t want to. It would feel like a stain on the memory of their baby to try and erase his short existence from the face of the earth. Lexa doesn’t want to forget the way she felt, holding a life inside of her. She just wishes it hadn’t ended the way it did. Then again, she always wishes that, and it’s never done her any good. This can’t, either. “I know, Clarke, but how is me leaving going to make it any easier? How can we…” she doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. She realizes they told each other how they felt, but neither have said where they hope to go from there._  

 _“…If I’m in another city, hours away, then how…” She lets the words drift, hope for Clarke to complete them with any semblance of reassurance._  

 _“I know,” Clarke says. “And I don’t want you to go, but -that’s why you need to. If it was up to me…if it was up to Charlie…” Clarke smiles, and Lexa feels her heart squeeze with a sudden, sharp sting of joy. Charlie will be so happy. But Lexa knows deep down that can’t be a factor in their choices. “We can’t rush in,” Clarke continues. “Look, if I hadn’t had this accident, would you have thought about staying? Dropping your new job and your apartment in Philly and just staying here and…trying again?”_  

 _Is that what they’re doing?  Lexa thinks. It’s what she wants._  

 _But Clarke is right._  

_ If today hadn’t happened the way it did…heaven knows when she would have found out about Finn, or about Clarke’s illness. And who knows what she would have done with the words, the emotions flowing through her every time she saw her ex-wife. Maybe Clarke never would have known, never told her she still felt the same right back. They never would’ve been here. So no, if Clarke hadn’t been in an accident she wouldn’t have considered changing her plans. _

_ But that just makes her believe even more that this is an opportunity to be taken. _

_“See?” Clarke asks, her voice rough. “You can’t let this control your choices-”_  

 _“I’m not letting it,” she states. “Today just helped me see things clearer. You’re right. Before today I wouldn’t have thought about staying and trying again, but before today I thought you were still with Finn, and when they told me about the biopsy…this helped me see things clearer, Clarke,” she repeats. “I know what matters now.”_  

 _“You matter,” Clarke says, enunciating the words so clearly that Lexa has no choice but to listen closely. “You, getting better, matters. And I saw you Lexa, when you talked about this job and this apartment. You were excited to go.”_  

 _Clarke holds her hand in hers, and squeezes, once._  

 _“I haven’t seen you like that since…” Her gaze drift away with her voice, and Lexa wonders where she went. Is she thinking of Charlie’s recital? Or even earlier, years ago, before everything happened and every day was still a beautiful adventure to go on together. Lexa doesn’t know. Clarke doesn’t tell her. She just shakes her head and returns to the present, biting her lip._  

 _“I haven’t seen you like that in far too long,” she amends. “You deserve that.”_  

 _Lexa thinks about her apartment in Philly, that she’d finally gotten around to seeing in person only a few days before. She thinks about the new company, about the perks of her new job and saving up to buy Charlie a new bike, to maybe afford that Disney vacation they promised her they’d taken her on. She thinks about the heaviness that seems to permeate every place she visited with Clarke and that she has to go to alone now, thinks about the people who’d always known her as half of a whole and who she knows see her now as incomplete. (Lexa feels it herself.)_  

 _She knows she wants to leave -or at least, she’d wanted that a day ago._  

 _Clarke is all she wants now._  

 _She wants them to be a family again, and hearing that Clarke feels the same -that she loves her, that she hasn’t stopped just like Lexa hasn’t- it’s enough to fuel the need to forget everything she planned and stay._  

 _She’s stll consumed with cold dread at the thought of moving back to their house, of standing in the same place she did that day as she lost their child, of sleeping in the same bed she and Clarke used to -had Finn slept there too? Had Clarke thrown away their marriage bed and bought a new one? Or cooking in the kitchen that had been privy to so many of their fights. She’s terrified, feels the fear slither down her back like a cold sneak, wrapping itself around her ribs and pressing._  

 _But she also knows it’d be worth it, that she wants it back._  

 _She wants the mornings  with Clarke sitting on the breakfast island and Charlie coloring away while she makes them pancakes with strawberry jam. She wants the rainy nights where Charlie climbs into their bed not because she’s afraid of the thunder but because she likes the feeling of her moms wrapped around her, protecting her even when there’s nothing tangible to be scared of. She wants her family back, and she knows it’d be worth all the pain in the world to get it._  

 _But Clarke looks at her so gently, with so much kindness shining out of her eyes…as if she couldn’t bear for Lexa to feel any pain at all._  

 _And Lexa realizes that maybe it’s not about staying or leaving, or about the cities they’ll be living in -but about each other. About being on the same page. She knows for a fact that right next to her, or a thousand miles away, she could never stop loving Clarke the way she does. So maybe leaving doesn’t matter, maybe home isn’t the house they bought when they were too young by most people’s standards to know what they’d want in 15 years._  

_ Perhaps home is each other, and their daughter. So it doesn’t really matter where she is. _

_Maybe Lexa can have that, and be happy, while still walking out from the gray cloud she feels this city has become for her, at least for a while. Maybe she can forgive herself, and accept…accept that what happened with their baby wasn’t her fault, that it never was, and stop punishing herself for it. It’d be a misguided attempt at penance to try and go back to their house now -if Clarke would even want that- and force herself to act like everything is fine._  

 _It isn’t, she isn’t, and maybe that’s okay._  

 _Maybe Lexa can take care of herself, and still love the woman in front of her and put the daughter they share first, all in a day’s time._   

 _She nods, rubbing her thumb across Clarke’s hand, and Clarke smiles softly, tears in her eyes._  

 _“I love you,” Lexa says, as though it’s an explanation and an answer all wrapped into one. Maybe it is. Clarke seems to understand._  

 _“You’ve said that. Did you…did you mean it?”_  

 _“Yes.”_  

 _“Good. Me too.” Clarke looks up at her, her “I love you so much.”_  

 _“If I leave…when I leave…how do we try?”_  

 _“We’ll figure it out,” Clarke tells her. “All I want is to see you happy. Do you think it’ll make you happy?”_  

 _“I know it’ll make me…better,” she says simply. She’s tasted the bright golden elixir of happiness, drank it from Clarke’s lips every single day they were married and content. But she knows she’ll be free in a way she hasn’t felt in ages. “But I’ll miss you and Charlie, and her schedule -it’s not too late to back out for me, we don’t have to do this to her.” She says it as one last attempt at getting Clarke to tell her to stay, even when she knows she’s made her decision._  

 _“She’ll be okay. And you’ll be okay too,” Clarke tells her, sounding so certain that Lexa has no choice to believe her. “And we’ll try again. If…if you want to. If you’ll have me.”_  

 _Lexa brushes her hair away from her face, taking care to barely graze her cheek._  

 _“Always.”_  

 

 

 

“And did it hurt?” 

Clarke shakes her head. 

“The little girl was asleep. Remember when I told you about anesthesia?” Charlie nods. “Yeah, well that put her to sleep so she didn’t feel a thing.” 

She looks up to Lexa’s building, even though she doesn’t think she can pinpoint which balcony is hers from down here. 

“And how did you fix her kidney?” Charlie asks, no doubt getting antsy over the waiting, but Clarke doesn’t ming talking about her job, or explaining her last surgery -again. They both felt it was necessary for Charlie to be here, to be a part of Lexa’s last day at her old apartment and first day at the new one. They’ve been trying to include her in every step of the moving process, to make it as easy as possible. 

Clarke thinks they’re doing now what they should have done the first time. 

“We didn’t fix it,” she tells Charlie. “Her daddy gave her one of his kidneys, because the little girl’s kidneys were sick, too sick to be fixed,” Clarke explains, as she’s used to. She’s always kept Charlie informed about her job, even when she was little. “They’ll both be okay now,” she adds, making sure her daughter knows that. 

Charlie looks thoughtfully up at Lexa’s apartment, as they wait for her to come down. 

“Can you do that to all the parts?” she asks. 

Clarke nods. “Yes, to most of them.” 

Charlie tugs on her shirt, a pensive look on her face. 

“Mommy, can I have a new heart?” She asks softly. “This one hurts.” 

The words are delivered with such ease that Clarke feels them like a sucker punch. She takes a breath to process, before she kneels down to Charlie’s height.

“I thought you were okay with mommy moving,” she says gently. “It’s okay to feel however you feel, but-” 

“I’m sad,” Charlie tells her without prompting. “But happy. Is sappy a feeling?” 

“Sappy is a word, but it doesn’t mean what I think you want it to mean.” 

Charlie shrugs, and looks back up to the building, loosely holding Clarke’s hand. Maybe she didn’t mean anything by it. But it’s still the kind of poignant, wise-yet-innocent comment that Clarke has always appreciated in her daughter. It’s one of the many things they weren’t prepared for as new mothers. They hadn’t expected her to have such a noticeable personality of her own, even as a baby; or for her to speak these amazing, terrifyingly true things from the time she was a toddler until now. 

Charlie hasn’t learned to measure herself, or the way her words breaks hearts, and Clarke would never want her to. It’s often the one source of honesty she knows the world has to offer. 

But her words do hurt. They never meant to hurt Charlie, and she knows that wasn’t Lexa’s intention when she told her she was planning to move. And Clarke is aware that Lexa put it in her hands, weeks ago at the hospital, and she could have told her to stay. 

But it wouldn’t have been right.  And she hates thinking about it in such a way, but she hopes that Charlie hurting now will lead to her being unimaginably happy in the future. 

She and Lexa want to try again, give each other another chance. And Clarke knows that can’t happen, not properly, unless Lexa heals. And she knows that Lexa won’t be able to if she’s here. Two years passed them by and though the pain has dulled to a small heartbeat behind Clarke’s eyes on certain days of the year, a single look into her ex-wife’s eyes and she knows that Lexa isn’t there yet. And she wants her to be. Needs her to, if they’re to have a future. And she wants to help her get there. 

By the time Lexa makes her way out of the apartment, Clarke has brushed away all traces of sadness.

 

 

_ (August 21st, 2025.) _

_They talk._  

 _They’re interrupted by the doctor once, and then by a nurse, but they lay everything out in the open. It doesn’t take more than an hour. Clarke isn’t quite sure how they manage to unpack so much -so many years of heartache- in the span of 60 minutes. She’s not naive, she knows things are far from fixed, far from ‘good’, even, but it feels like a start. She doesn’t quite know what happened with Finn earlier, but -and she feels bad for it- she doesn’t care too much. It’s a sign of just how wrong starting that relationship in the first place. Besides, she doesn’t want to talk about it with Lexa right now._  

 _Lexa calls her mom, and asks her to bring Charlie._  

 _Clarke feels like a weight is lifted of her shoulders when Lexa passes her the phone, and she finally tells her mom everything, tells her about the pain and the diagnosis. Her mom is upset that she kept it from her for so long, but then she’s immediately talking about pulling strings and scrubbing in to be with her in the OR, and Clarke’s chest feels tight._  

 _It doesn’t matter how old she might get, if she’s a mother herself -she’ll always need her mom._  

_ She’s not ready for Charlie’s voice on the phone when that conversation is over. Her daughter starts crying, and it pulls a visceral reaction from her, as it always does. Be it from a scrapped knee or a tantrum or frustration, Clarke was never impervious to her daughter’s pain. It hurts her, every time. And it’s worse now since she knows that she’s the cause. She wants to be mad at Lexa for allowing Charlie to come up here and see her this way, but she can’t find it in herself to do it. _

_There’s no getting Charlie to listen over the phone, so she asks her to bring her through the lump in her throat. Lexa is here. She only needs her mom and her daughter for her closest family to be complete._  

 _She waits with Lexa while her mom drives to the hospital. Lexa insists that she get some rest, and Clarke gives in if only to make her happy, and lays her head back down against the pillows. Lexa takes over, and tells her she’ll call their friends and let them know everything. It’s another weight off her shoulders, and she allows herself to be selfish and let Lexa do it. Octavia is going to be pissed Clarke kept it from her. She’ll probably body slam her with all of her 3rd trimester pregnant belly because Clarke dared to keep something from her because she didn’t want to worry her. Raven is not going to be any different._  

 _Her eyes close of their own volition while Lexa makes the calls, her voice taking that tone that was so familiar to her once upon a time. Confident. Self-assured. The voice that calmed their daughter’s fears and assuaged her concerns about money, that could command a room and a courthouse. She hasn’t heard it in a while, not since the miscarriage happened. (She briefly thinks about all the ways it had changed them, changed Lexa, and vows that she’ll be better at understanding that, this time around.)_  

_ Before she knows it, Lexa’s voice lulls her to sleep.   _

 

  

 _When she wakes up, it feels as though no time has passed at all. She tries to sit up,  but a groan leaves her lips as red hot pain rushes through her. No sitting up, then._  

 _And then there’s pressure on her shoulder._  

_ “Lexa?” she asks, trying to look over her shoulder, and then Lexa steps into view.  _

_“Are you okay?” she asks._  

 _“Hurts,” she manages to say, and nearly smiles because that is Lexa’s usual response to pain, not hers. “What did I miss?”_  

_ “The doctor came earlier, he said they scheduled your surgery. And Abby is coming up with Charlie.” _

  _Clarke nods, feels the longing in her chest to see her daughter. It’s only been hours, really, since all of this happened, but she’s never felt quite settled if they’re not all in the same room. (Looking at Lexa now, she realizes she’s felt unsettled for two entire years.)_  

 _“Okay,” she says. Lexa grabs her hand before she can fight her pride to ask her to._  

 

 

 _It’s not as frightening as she thought it would be, to go under._  

 _Seeing patients anesthetized is run of the mill for her, but she’s never been the one lying on the table before. She is now. Lexa holds her hand, and Charlie stands in front of her, her little hands clutching Clarke’s arm. Her mom stands to her other side. Her friends are outside. Octavia and Raven got there after Charlie. She’s relaxed as they start the induction process, and yes, she knows its a simple surgery, and the doctor is amazing, but it mostly has to do with the way both Lexa and Charlie stand by her side, silently encouraging. Clarke knows there’s very little chance of anything going wrong, but if even if it did, she knows nothing could take her from them. She’d fight tooth and nail and god itself to stay with her family._  

_ She falls asleep. _

 

 

 

“Mama!” Charlie runs to Lexa as she exits her apartment complex, jumping into her arms before Lexa is quite ready to catch her. A small ‘hmph’ escapes her, and Clarke chuckles. “What took you so long?” Charlie asks, hands on Lexa’s shoulders.

 “Just closing everything up,” she says, briefly looking back towards the building. “Are you sure you got everything you wanted? All the pictures?”

 Charlie nods. 

“Are you ready?” 

Charlie nods again, jumping down from Lexa’s arms, and running to her car. She jumps in the backseat, and Clarke is glad to see she looks excited at the prospect of the drive to come. They’ve visited Lexa’s apartment twice before, to get her used to the place, but today is the day they drive there with Lexa and return just the two of them. 

Clarke climbs into the passenger’s seat in Lexa’s car. She eyes her mom in the rear-view mirror -their ride back to D.C. -and feels calm settle over her as Lexa starts the car.

It feels like anything but an ending.

 

 

 _(August 21st, 2025.)_  

 _Lexa hovers, the day she spends in recovery at the hospital. She’s by her side for most of the day, only going home to spend time with Charlie and tuck her in, and Clarke not-so secretly loves it, even if before she’d found it too much. She’s missed Lexa fussing over her for 2 years. Its making up for lost time. And she cant wait for the day she gets to return the favor. Charlie spends the day with her grandma, only visiting Clarke for lunch, which they all have together on top of her hospital bed._  

 _Charlie sits cross-legged and bright eyed over the covers, eyes switching between the two of them every few minutes. Like she can’t quite believe that they’re talking, that they’re all together having lunch and no one’s raising their voices._  

_ Clarke craves this, forever. She doesn’t want the look in Charlie’s face to ever fade away. _

_ That’s why she dreads the conversation that she knows it’s coming. Lexa is moving to Pensylvannia for a while, and they're changing Charlie’s schedule, and it’s a conversation they need to have, as a family. And she knows it’s going to break Charlie’s world. All over again, they'll be changing everything she knows. _

  _But Clarke knows that they can't keep going at it like this, that Lexa can't keep living in a place that brings her nothing but grief, that they can't start trying to fix things if they hvaen't fully put the past behind them. So she knows it's necessary. But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt._  

_ But she and Lexa talked, and they’re both committed to trying again. They both love each other. If they need to be apart before they can be together -she accepts that. She encourages her, even. And she knows that at the end of the road Charlie will be better for it, happier with the two of them together again.  _

  _Clarke’s dreams of her family being whole again feel more like a reality._

  

 

 

“What is she doing?” Lexa asks, setting the pizza box on the table. This apartment doesn’t have a breakfast island like her old one, but Charlie gets her own bathroom, and the living room is bigger. It’s nice.

 “Jumping on the bed,” Clark lets her knwo, still smiling at Charlie -mismatched socks and all, because she had been in a hurry that morning- jumping on her bed in her new bedroom. “Something about how it’s really important she tries it out. Gotta make sure it’s strong enough.”

 “She does know it’s the same bed and mattress than before, right?” Lexa says, with a smile of her own. “The only thing that’s changed is the place.”

 “At least she gave us a solid excuse,” Clarke says, looking around the plastic bags from the supermarket they’d stopped at an hour into their trip. Charlie had needed to go to the bathroom, and they ended up buying entirely too many snacks at the little 7-Eleven next to the gas station.

 Clarke finds the paper plates and pulls them out, making herself useful. 

“She must get her negotiation skills from you,” Lexa says, opening the pizza box. Clarke lays down four plates. 

“Oh no,” Clarke tells her. “That’s all you. That’s clearly a lawyer’s kid.” 

Lexa smiles, her lips closed. It’s been a long while since she’s seen her smile the way she did before, wide and unbidden, her teeth showing while she bites her tongue, her expression all mirth. It’s different, but at least it’s there. It feels good. This all does. 

She lays down the plates and Lexa serves the food, while their daughter laughs while she jumps on her bed. And it might be take out on paper plates, and it might be a new city and a new apartment, they might live almost two hours away from each other now and they mights till be divorced -but to Clarke this feels the closest her family has been ever since that day so long ago. 

(It feels farther and farther away, all that heartache. Every smile they share only pushes it further.) 

Clarke looks up, her eyes on Lexa. 

She finishes serving the food, and she closes the pixa box neatly. It's something Clarke never did, since she didn't see a point to closing things if she was going to open them again right afterward. Take out boxes. Toothpaste. Putting their clothes back on after sex. Lexa was always neater than her. Clarke used to drive her up the wall. 

(Clarke's mind stays on the thought of sex for longer than appropiate, but that's another thing she can't help thinking about. They haven't kissed again since the hospital, and its been weeks. They hardly touch more than they did, but when they do it feels meaningful. A hand to her shoulder when she drops off Charlie. A squeeze of their hands together as they watch her play in the park and she's not looking. She's been starved of Lexa for so long that it feels like too little and too overwhelmingly much at once.) 

She doesn't know what's right, yet, what's appropiate. What they are to each other exactly. Lexa has been too busy with the moving and they'd both dedicated a lot of time to talking to Charlie, answering her questions, preparing her for the changes to come. They'd started the new schedule a week ago so Charlie could start to get used to it. She'd spent a week with Lexa while knowing that if it was too much they could go visit her right away. She'd done just fine. And Clarke had teared up a little, but she'd been glad. 

Things were working the way they wanted them to. 

"You okay?" Lexa asks, and Clarke realizes she'd been staring into space, looking right through Lexa. 

"Yeah, I'm good. Just...thinking." 

Lexa nods, as though she understand exactly what she was thinking about. 

"We need to talk," Lexa tells her. "Later." 

Her tone of voice leaves no question to the topic, and nervous butterflies flutter in Clarke's belly. She nods. She takes a few steps closer to her, until she's in front of her. She's spent too long resisting the pull that had survived between them, and now that she realizes she doesn't have to ignore it anymore -that she's allowed to touch Lexa, that Lexa still loves her and knows that Clarke still loves her? 

It's so easy to reach for her hand. 

She can still hear Charlie in her bedroom, now belting out the lyrics to a pop song from that Disney show she likes so much. It's safe. Clarke grasps her hand and their fingers intertwine. 

In this pocket of time, they can be with each other. 

"I-" 

"I'm back!" 

They both jump, and step away from each other. Her mom closes the door after her and turns around. 

"I got us some champagne to properly inaugurate the new apartment, Lexa," she says, lifting the paper bags in her hand. "And I got Charlie some juice and a can of soda." 

"Abby," Lexa says. "She's-" 

"She's allowed to be spoiled by her grandma." 

Lexa shakes her head, and that's it. 

Clarke watches as her mom puts the stuff on the table, next to their food, and begins pulling out cups and drinks. She smiles. She'd almost forgotten how well Lexa and and her mom got along. It had started on the rocky side, but her mom had to grown to love Lexa as her own. 

Clarke had been jealous, once upon a time. Both that her mom had kept in touch with Lexa and that Lexa had gotten her mom on her side, or at least in a neutral position. She'd left that behind long before she'd actually thought about trying again with Lexa. She'd just loved her and realized how selfish she had been.

She hadn't only given Lexa a daughter, she'd given her a mother too, after she'd lost her own so young, and it was something that Clarke should have been endlessly happy about. Proud. Two good things she'd done that she could scale against the bad when she agonized over it all late at night.

"You kids okay?" Her mom asks, and Clarke notices their silence.

"Yeah," she tells her, wondering briefly about how much her mom had seen when she walked in, if anything at all. She'd noticed how different they were with each other lately, as Lexa was moving -she'd been surprised especially considering Clarke's initial reaction- but Clarke had shrugged it off as them finally learning to co-parent and trust each other again in that capacity. 

She and Lexa hadn't talked about it, the concept of 'trying again' and all it entailed, past the fact that they were both keen on doing it. But Clarke instinctually knew that they wouldn't want anyone to know about it. It would be too much pressure, too many eyes on them.  And she hadn't even let herself think about what would happen if they failed. 

"I'm just going to get Charlie," she tells her mom, but she shakes her head. 

"I got it, I got it," she tells them both, and squeezes Clarke's shoulder before walking down the hallway to get her granddaughter. 

Lexa looks at her. 

"Later," she mouths.  Clarke nods.

 

 

 

 _(August 27th, 2025.)_  

_ “She’s moving? Like, she’s just gonna up and leave.” _

  _Clarke can feel the waves of anger on her behalf coming from Octavia, and if before she would have basked in it, felt righteous in her anger thanks to their validation -now all she felt was the need to defend Lexa. She doesn’t want her to move, that’s true. If it was up to Clarke she’d stay and move back in with her and they’d pick up right where they left of -but it’s not up to her, and it’s not realistic, either. If Lexa needs this change, then Clarke supports her. And she keeps telling herself that’s what it is -change, not distance._

  _It’s easy when they do feel closer than they have since Lexa first left._  

_ “Yes, for a while,” she tells Octavia. She knew it wouldn’t be permanent because they’d agreed to try again, but she had no idea for how much time it would be. Lexa told her it wouldn’t be for long, but she’s still talking to Gustus about her old job, and whether it’d be possible to still have it when she decided to come back. It’s a long shot, but Gus -the old man that has always reminded her of a bear in a way- loves Lexa like a daughter.  _

  _Lexa’s hopeful, and in turn, so is Clarke._

  _(And they text now, more often than they did before. Still mostly about Charlie but also about their jobs, about the move, and once about a movie Clarke was watching on cable and that she knew Lexa loved to catch even though she owned the DVD, so she sent her a text._

  _It’s new and sometimes awkward -she’s never felt so nervous and insecure texting, not even Lexa herself when they first started dating, not even her first boyfriend back when she was a teen- but it’s a welcome change. Nerves flutter in her stomach every time her cell phone lights up with a new text, and it’s something she thinks she had left behind after hitting 30._

  _They’re careful with their words, and they never mention the past, but she remembers Lexa’s particular sense of humor and her perfect use of punctuation with ease, as though they had never stopped communicating._

  _It feels like a breath of fresh air in Clarke’s days.)_

  _But she still doesn’t have all the answers. Neither of them do. But the fact stands that Lexa is leaving, and Clarke needed to talk to her friends about it, so here she is._

  _t was Lexa’s long weekend with Charlie, and though her daughter had been reticent to leave after the accident and her brief time in the hospital, after they agreed to skype every night before bed, Charlie had gone with Lexa, and the first thing Clarke had done when she was alone was call Raven and Octavia. She’d already heard it from them for keeping her suspicions about her illness a secret for so long, but now that it’s over -and according to her doctor, it is, the tumor is gone- they’ve let it go in favor of talking about the other major situation in her life._

  _“I can’t believe you’re letting her do that,” Octavia tells her, shaking her head as she spoons ice cream into her mouth._

  _Clarke bristles up._

  _“I can’t exactly control her, Octavia,” she says, more tense than she wishes she had. Octavia looks up, her eyebrows slightly raised._

  _“I know, I get that -it’s just. If it was Lincoln, I wouldn’t want him to move away from me and River. And this one.” She tapped her protruding belly. “And Lexa, well, she loves Charlie. This is a shitty thing to do to her.”_

  _Clarke purses her lips._

  _“I've got another tub of Rocky Road!” Raven calls out. “Half a pint of Vanilla and that’s it! I’m out of ice cream.”_

  _“Bring the Rocky Road!” Octavia yells back. A second later Raven walks back inside the living room, the ice cream in her hand._  

 _“Now that I’ve got my stuff please start from the beginning,” Raven asks, sitting down next to Octavia on the couch. So Clarke does._  

 _She tells them that Lexa is moving, and she respects Lexa too much to share her motives in their entirety, but she tells them the gist of it. And that she supports her. That Lexa will be happier this way, and that can only be a good thing for Charlie. And that she'll come back in a while, when she feels better._  

 _"I know it's been hard on her," Raven mentions. "What with everything that happened...I get that she'd want a fresh start. But it's two hours away."_  

 _"I know," Clarke tells her. "But Charlie is spending a week with each of us, and in the middle of the week we'll all have dinner together, so she won't go a full week without seeing either of us. It's not perfect, I know that. But we're going to make it work," she states. "I tried with Finn. I had my promotion at work. Lexa deserves this much."_  

 _Octavia gives her a look._  

 _"I haven't heard you talk about her like that in a while," she says._  

 _Clarke's stomach swoops._  

 _"Like what?"_  

 _"Like you don't...resent her, I guess," she says._  

 _"Like you love her," Raven supplies, and Clarke looks away. She focuses on her melting ice cream, because she's sure they'll notice it somehow._  

_ That her heart beat sounds like 'I do, I do, I do." _

 

 

 

Later ends up being after dinner, once the majority of the pizza is gone and Charlie -instead of getting ready to nap like she usually does after a big, greasy meal- is bouncing off the walls, begging them to take her to the park two blocks away from Lexa’s new apartment. They’d taken her there the first time they visited with Lexa, and Clarke is at least a little bit sure that the closeness of the large park and the towering jungle gym it boasts were at least partly responsible for the ease with which Charlie accepted the move. 

In the end, its her mom that offers to take her while they finish cleaning up, and Clarke is thankful, if not slightly suspicious about her motives. 

She puts it out of her head. 

As soon as the door closes after her mom and Charlie, the atmosphere inside the apartment changes. The air itself becomes heavier, thick with the things unsaid and the moments they’ve missed, stacked up higher than the boxes holding Lexa’s belongings. There’s so much between them that they have to unpack. It seems like such a daunting task Clarke isn’t entirely sure how to begin. 

“How are you?” She asks. 

“I could ask you the same,” Lexa asks back. “Has the wound bothered you? And what did the doctor say at the-” 

“I’m fine,” she tells her. “He said everything looked good. This was just a scare.”

Lexa nods. 

She walks to the couch in front of the fireplace, and Clarke follows after her. They sit on opposite sides, but even with the distance between them she feels so close its almost intoxicating. The apartment is empty. It’s one of a handful of times they’ve been completely alone since the divorce, and probably the only one when they weren’t scrambling for it to end. 

“I -huh- I talked to Gustus,” Lexa tells her. “He said my place at the firm is always going to be waiting for me.” 

Clarke smiles. She’s thankful for Gustus in that moment -not just for letting Lexa go back to a job she loves when she’s ready, but for being there for her .

“That’s amazing.” 

“Yeah, he was really great. He understands.” 

She nods. And then she decides to bite the bullet. 

“Is that what you wanted to talk about?” 

Lexa looks up. “Not just that. We need to talk about…us. What are we going to do? When-” 

“I think the ‘how do we do it’ is also pretty important,” she tells her, trying to lighten the mood. It works, and Lexa gives her a brief smile. 

“I think we should make time for each other,” she says, and it sounds practiced, but Clarke is thankful at least one of them is confident in where she stands. “These next two weeks are going to be hard at work, and I have to fix up the rest of the apartment, but after, I was thinking-” 

“You might start dating your ex-wife?” The words send a rush through Clarke, but she says them and she means them. She’s not naive enough to think they can just go back to what they used to be. But they can start somewhere. 

“Dating,” Lexa repeats. 

“You’re right,” Clarke tells her. “We need time together. Alone. To…talk about everything, get to know each other again. See where we go from there.” Lexa nods, and Clarke swallows, pushing nerves down. “So, would you go on a date with me?” 

Lexa smiles softly. 

“I’d like that,” she tells her. And Clarke feels her heart soar with hope.

 

 

_ (September 1st, 2025.) _

_ "Have you been feeling anxious lately? There’s a normal amount of nerves we go through when facing big changes, but I want to make to sure it’s manageable, and it’s not getting in the way of day to day life." _

  _Lexa thinks about it. She's learned to do that when sitting here, even if it didn't come naturally to her at first. She's not anxious about moving. She's not dreading it._

 _But she is worried about one thing._  

_ "I'm not anxious about moving. But...Clarke and I agreed to tell Charlie that I’m moving this weekend, and I just don’t know -I’m scared it’ll go over wrong." It's taken her a while to be able to say out loud when she feels fear, but she got there. "I don’t want a repeat of last time. I don’t want to hurt her. But I can’t imagine it going right." _

  _Why not?"_  

 _She remembers Charlie's tear filled eyes when they told her she was moving out, that she and Clarke were splitting up. She remembers her frown, the confussion in her eyes. To her, it wasn't  a solution, or the natural course things took after so many months of fighting. For her daughter, her family was just being torn apart, her heart along with it, by the two women who were supossed to protect her from everything._  

 _She doesn't want that to happen again. It scares her that it will._  

 _"I don't know.  I just- I know we've talked about this before. I know I’m not abandoning her. But what if she thinks I am? Or that my job is more important than her -because that’s what we’re telling her. That I got a new job and that’s why I need to move.” She looks up at Indra. “Is that wrong?”_  

 _She and Clarke taled briefly about it on the phone a few days ago, and they both agreed that's what Charlie was old enough to understand._  

_ "You know I think that honesty is the best policy, but Charlie is very young. She sees you and Clarke as all-knowing, all powerful. You’re her mothers. And from all I’ve heard about her, she’s a very empathetic child. Knowing that you’re still hurting over an event that she didn’t feel quite as strongly as you and your ex-wife did might cause unneeded worry or anxiety, and that’s the last thing we want," Indra tells her. "I always say it’s important to communicate, but the younger a child is the less details I recommend a parent goes into when talking to them. At this point I don’t think she would understand the need for distance that you have. " _

  _"That’s what we thought. I don’t even understand it myself."_  

 _She knows the feeling keenly, that clawing necessity to get away when she's overwhelmed with pain, to lick her wounds by herself, but even when she doesn't need to do that -she doesn't quite understand why it's not so easy to turn it off._  

 _"It’s more common than you think," Indra says. "Wanting to be away from places where trauma has occurred is nothing if not human. Plus, we’ve talked about your parents and Anya at length before. And how those experiences might have shaped you."_  

 _Lexa nods._  

_ Two words and she sees herself there again, sitting at school and getting the news about her mom, or getting that call about her dad, or finding out about Anya. Indra had told her she'd experienced a huge amount of loss in her life, and that she couldn't blame herself for the ways it had changed her as a person, but Lexa often thought about it. _

_What kind of person would she be if she hadn't gone through any of that. If she had her mother there when she found out she was pregnant, if she had her dad there to be an amazing grandfather to Charlie, if she had Anya to talk with whenever she and Clarke disagreed on something._  

 _It sounded like a perfect life, to Lexa. And it made her eyes burn to think about it, to remember them._  

_ "We’re talking about Charlie, right now,” she says, to redirect the conversation to something she feels comfortable with. She and Indra have talked about her challenging herself and trying to talk about things that hurt to be able to heal from them, but right now… _

  _It’s too much, feels too raw. Lexa has gotten much better at talking about things, but she can’t talk about that just now. Indra nods and moves along._  

_ “A friend of mine specializes on children," she says. "You can bring Charlie to her if you think it will help her adjust to the move, or if you think she is becoming anxious, overly fearful, or her mood changes. But Lexa, I really do think you and Clarke have this under control." She writes something down on her notepad. "I may have recommended it for both you and Clarke after the miscarriage, and maybe even for Charlie too, if it was affecting her. Family counseling is a good way to learn to face trauma or grief as a unit." _

_Lexa bites the inside of her cheek._  

 _"First mistake was not getting help," she says._  

 _"And you’re not making those mistakes again," Indra tells her._  

 _"Do you think Clarke and I would benefit from couple’s therapy?" she asks. "Once we’re…a couple again?"_  

 _She's not opposed to it like she once was. And when she thinks about it -she's not scared anymore. She just can't wait to get there. She wants them to be okay again._  

_ "I think you’ve been through a lot, and if you think talking about it in a safe, controlled environment will be good for you, then there’s no reason you shouldn’t give it a try. It might help you both unpack a lot of what was going on inside your heads before the divorce, and understand each other a bit better. That’s never wrong." _

  _She nods._  

 _"Clarke wanted us to try. You know that. And I bolted."_  

_ "You weren’t ready back then, and that’s not something you should punish yourself for. It’s in the past. And we’re working on looking toward the future, aren’t we?" _

  _Lexa nods._  

 _"So, we should talk about that. Are you looking forward to moving?"_  

 _Lexa is surprised at the smile that plays on her lips. She feels like a schoolgirl._  

 _"Yes," she says. "My new job- I just got sent some of the cases I’ll be working on and I can’t wait to get a head start on those."_  

 _Indra nods pleasantly. "That’s important."_  

 _"And I, huh. I’ve been looking into a gym close to my apartment. I think I might start going again. They have these boxing classes -I haven’t done that since I was in college, I’m probably not any good anymore, but-” She shrugs. “Plus there are spinning classes. And I always thought it looked ridiculous, but…I don’t know. I think it might be…fun. I’m looking forward to trying that out when I move in.”_  

 _A smile spreads across Indra’s face, and Lexa think she’s never quite seen her smile like that. It’s not strange, or overly cheerful. But the woman is usually so solemn and serious, and Lexa’s used to her small, polite smiles -it’s different._  

 _“That’s fantastic, Lexa!” she exclaims. “A regular exercise regimen sounds excellent.” She passes a few pages on her usual notepad. “And I’m so glad to hear that you feel up for that.” She zones in on a page. “When you first came to see me, you told me you felt ‘heavy’, like you couldn’t do anything. That’s why you weren’t interested in exercising anymore.” She looks up to her. “This is solid progress, Lexa.”_  

 _Lexa smiles and looks away. She’s not exactly sure what to do with the praise, but it feels…nice. The last few days have felt like she’s slowly becoming unstuck, and she’s glad that her therapist is confirming that change._  

_ "I want you to take on what you feel comfortable with. You don’t have to immediately go back to your old training regimen, but I will encourage you to have an active schedule, what work and your responsibilities with Charlie, and your time will Clarke will allow.” _

_ She nods. She’s been thinking of getting back to it, really getting back into it. Waking up earlier than usual and going for a run. Going to the gym a few days a week like she used to.  _

_ "I haven't really exercised since the miscarriage," she tells Indra, who nods, and writes something down. _

_ Lexa misses her body.  _

_ Even while she was pregnant, it was strong, capable. She exercised and she took pride in how she looked. (And she'd loved how Clarke loved it.) She thought for a long while that maybe the miscarriage was her fault for exercising while she was pregnant, even though her doctor had said it was okay, recommended even. And afterward she'd just been too...depressed to do anything at all. She felt too heavy to get out of bed, let alone exercise or go for a run. _

_ She wants to change that.  _

_ (She doesn't quite know when it became so easy to think about the miscarriage, to spell it out in her head or say it out loud to Indra.) _

_ “It's great that you want to start again," Indra tells her. "And I don't want us to get ahead of ourselves, but I think in a few months, once you're settled in your new job and have a good exercise regimen in place, we might try reducing your medication, slowly weaning you off of it." _

_ Lexa raises her eyebrows. She doesn't think about the little white pills a lot, taking them has become a routine exercise. _

_ "Do you think I'm...better?" _

_ "They're not a cure for anxiety, Lexa," Indra tells her. "Or depression. They help you manage it. And like I said, I don't want to get ahead of ourselves, but I think you're getting to a place where we can manage it without the need for medication." _

_ The idea sounds appealing. She and Indra have talked at lenght over the stigma associated with taking medication, and she used to put herself down over it -she remembers telling Abby that maybe one day Clarke and Charlie wouldn't need her, that an extra mom on anxiety meds wouldn't be good enough for them.  _

_ She doesn't feel that way anymore. But she does look forward to feeling the way she used to. She knows she'll never forget what happened, that it's a part of her now. But for the first time since then she feels hopeful about everything that comes next. It doesn't feel like the walls are caving in, she doesn't feel heavy. She hopes it'll be the same even without the pills. _

_ She nods at Indra.   _

_ "Now, you said you and Clarke agreed to try again," Indra mentions. "Are you looking forward to that? Are you experiencing any negative feelings regarding that?” _

_ "No. Not really." The opposite, in fact. These days when she thinks of Clarke, the dark, ugly feelings leftover from the days of fights before the divorce are an afterthought. "I’ve been…excited." She smiles to herself, knowing it's true. It's more than that, actually. "Every time Clarke and I talk, even over the phone, I get this…rush. " _

_ She feels her cheeks warm. _

_ "That’s great, Lexa,” Indra says. _

_ And for the first time in a while she feels like things really are going to be. _

 

 

 

Charlie waits for her on the steps of her dance academy. 

Lexa leaves her new apartment in high spirits, and she only feels better when she sees her daughter waiting for her, a smile on her face. She hasn’t seen Charlie in a few days, and even though it’s no different than what they did before, Lexa feels the distance between them. As if her being in another city 2 hours away just exacerbated the feeling of disconnect she felt whenever it was Clarke’s time with her. 

But she’s working on it. They both are. 

She steps out of the car just in time for Charlie to come barreling towards her, and jumping into her arms. Lexa will never get tired of this. She squeezes her tight, smiling against her neck. 

“Hey Char,” she greets her, pressing a series of kisses against her cheek that have Charlie giggling. “How was school today?”

“Okay. Dance was better.” 

“It was? What did you do?” 

“Can we got to the park next to the new place?” Charlie asks, jumping right over Lexa’s question. “Grandma and I saw a puppy the last time we went. Maybe we can see it again.” She presses her hands on Lexa’s cheeks. “Please?” she begs, and truth be told, Lexa didn’t require the puppy eyes at all. She’s already going to say yes. 

“Okay.” she tells her, and Charlie squeals, jumping down from her arms and opening the door of her car. Lexa helps her get it. 

“Ready for a week with mommy?” She asks. Charlie nods, her feet swinging from her car seat. 

A week with her doesn't mean a week without Clarke. Yes, Charlie sleeps over at Clarke’s for a week and then at Lexa’s for a week, but they have Tuesday dinner together, all three of them. Sometimes Abby joins in. Sometimes they take River and Well’s boys too, and they spend the evening at Chuck&Cheese’s. She and Clarke decided not to let a week go by where Charlie doesn’t see one of them in person, and having dinner together -as a family- has been their way to fix that. It helps Charlie cope, and deep down it helps her too. 

She feels less guilty about how unencumbered she feels living in a new place when she is always just two days away from seeing her daughter in person, and always just a phone call away, and so is Clarke. She might be living in a different city, but she feels like she’s doing a better job as a co-parent ever since she moved.

Or maybe since she and Clarke kissed again, back at the hospital. The jury is still out on that one. 

But it works. And Charlie notices the difference.

 Lexa has caught her staring up at them, her eyes full of stars and dimples appearing in her cheeks as she sees them joke around the dinner table and pass each other plates of food. That same look is in her eyes as Lexa calls Clarke that afternoon, making plans for next week and telling her about the restaurant she chose for Tuesday. She's been trying to get settled into the city little by little, and she and Charlie have been almost everywhere within walking distance by now.

 They go to the park. They don't see the same puppy as last time when Abby was here, but they do pet a few dogs, and Lexa lets herself imagine the day where she can walk home with a puppy -bow around its neck- in her arms, and see Charlie's reaction. 

 They spend the weekend baking cookies and cupcakes, and though desserts were usually more Clarke's thing, she thinks she does a good enough job. They skype Clarke late on Sunday, and promise to save her some of their creations when she comes over later in the week.

 Lexa already feels sorry for her having to try Charlie's pink-and-blue frosted extravaganza, covered in sugar and cream cheese.

 

 

 "Mommy?" Charlie pipes up, while they're sitting in the couch, eating dinner. 

"Yes, sweetie?" 

Charlie puts down her pasta bowl for a second.

"Do you and mama like each other again?" 

The questions is so clear, so simple and straightforward, and yet it still gives Lexa pause. 

"I've always likeed your mom, Charlie," she answers, aware that it's a non-answer. But she doesn't know how to answer her question without giving her hope for something she can't promise yet. 

"But are you mad at her anymore?" Charlie insists, stumbling over the words. "Are you still mad at each other?" 

"No," Lexa tells her. "We're not mad at each other," she promises. "We're never going to be mad at each other like we used to be." 

She can't promise that, but she can promise that she and Clarke will never  let her get caught in the crossfire. She can promise that she'll never check out again, or turn away, and she knows Clarke can promise the same. 

"Okay," Charlie tells her, picking her food back up. "That's good," she adds, and it makes Lexa smile. 

 

 

She texts Clarke more often. 

Only ever after Charlie has gone to bed, and she even changes her password -it feels odd to be so careful and secretive of a 7 year old, but she doesn’t want Charlie to know they’re trying again until it’s a sure thing. They already broke her heart once, and if Lexa wouldn’t survive this failing a second time, she can’t imagine what it’ll do to their daughter.

But things…change. Slowly. They talk more about each other, and they carefully mention the past every once in a while. Only the happy memories, but it’s a start. It feels like they’re starting to know each other again, in a way. 

She and Charlie have a routine down pat by the second week she's in this new city. 

She wakes her early for school and drives her. This Monday, they make it in just over an hour and a half, and Charlie sleeps most of the way. Lexa goes to work, and she already knows most of her co-workers names, even though its only her second week and she's settling down. It's good, a little more boring than what she did with Gustus, but she always had a mind for numbers, and corporate work is simple enough.

She picks up Charlie from school, and they make pizza for dinner out of flattened bread slices. They go to the park again, and Lexa starts running again, Charlie in tow. She feels like she’s flying. 

She texts Clarke the address of the restaurant for Tuesday late that night, typing one last thing.

_ We should talk about the dating thing. _

It's silly, and the wording is juvenile, and she can't quite believe such a simple thing would send her heart into overdrive -but it does.  They decided they would...date, but they haven't made plans yet. Lexa had to settle down and unpack and start her new job, and they were both concerned with making the transition as easy for Charlie as possible. 

But now everything's settled, and possibilities swarm like bees inside her head.

  

 

Clarke shows up a few minutes before the hour they decided, and Lexa's stomach does a backflip. 

She's wearing a white dress that comes down to just abover knees, and a jacket to fend off the early atumn chill, and Lexa files away how she's never looked so beautiful. Charlie runs to her, and the waiter comes back with the entrées she and Charlie had ordered. 

"You have a beautiful family," the man tells her, and Lexa swallows a lump in her throat. She does. 

They sit down to eat as such. 

Lexa has caught Charlie looking at them while they have their Tuesday dinners before, and it's no different tonight. She’s happier, talks much more when they’re all together than she used to. Lexa never realized how her chatterbox of a child was much quieter on the few occasions she and Clarke met face to face, but she realizes it now -feels guilty she ever made her daughter feel like she had to walk on eggshells around them to avoid a fight. 

That care is gone now, and Charlie plays with her food, as if daring them to call her out on it because she knows they’re going to do it together.

 

 

They put Charlie to bed together, and as they turn out the light and go back to the living room Clarke asks her only one thing:

"Are you free on Friday?"

She is.

 

 

She brings Charlie over to River's, and Lincoln and Octavia take her for the night as she tells them she has a work dinner for her new job. Lincoln congratulates her while Octavia keeps her space, her belly larger than before, if that was even possible. And Lexa knows Clarke is the first step, but she still has many relationships to fix, to get back.

She doesn't know what to expect when she sees Clarke. 

She notices her as she enters through the double doors of the restaurant, wearing a black dress that she's never seen her in.

Her heart jumps in her chest like she assumed it would, but there's also a bittersweet happiness that accompanies it, that invades her seeing Clarke with her hair curled and with red lipstick on her lips, just for her. This was her wife, and they used to do this for their little date nights. This is her ex-wife, and they're trying to salvage whatever they can from the wreckage of the sunken boat that was their marriage.

She greets her with a kiss to her cheek, and it feels like a current electricity.

It stops there, though.

The awkwardness is something she didn't expect. 

They'd been doing great over text, talking and laughing, but face-to-face they're at a loss for words. Once they've covered Charlie and her school, and her dance lessons, and the weather -they're at an impasse. 

And their dishes aren't even halfway eaten, yet.

"So...how's work been?" Clarke asks, for the second time that night. Lexa closes her eyes.

"We're not talking about it," she says, before opening and looking at Clarke.

"...What do you mean?"

"We're not talking about...us. We've been avoiding to. Even over text."

Clarke breathes in. "I'm trying," she whispers.

Lexa nods. She knows that. But she spent too much time being a coward to start again now.

"We were married, I was pregnant. I lost the baby. Our marriage fell apart. That happened," she says, and she surprises herself -and Clarke- by saying it so succinctly. It's still raw, she thinks maybe it always will be, but Clarke is sitting in front of her and she loves her, and she wants the same Clarke she saw at the hospital, the same Clarke she talked to a few weeks later, at her new aparment. The Clarke that kissed her back and held her hand and wanted to date her.

She feels distance and she hates that, so she acknowledges all the things standing between them.

"All those things happened. And I tried- I wish I could pretend that we’re just two women on a date, but I can’t. Because I look at you, and I see the woman I’m in love with, but I also see the mother of my children -both of them- and I see everything that got us here in the first place. I can’t pretend like those fights never happened." It's what they've been doing. It's the reason behind the stilted conversation and awkward atmosphere. They can't be people they're not. "I can’t-”

“And you shouldn’t,” Clarke tells her. “I’m sorry. I was just-” She shakes her head. “You’ve always been braver than me,” she whispers. She looks down at the table between them, and Lexa grabs her hand. Clarke looks up. “I just don’t want to mess up," she tells her. "I don’t want to say the wrong thing or bring up something at the wrong time, and ruin what we’re trying to do here."

Lexa nods. She understands that.

"And what are we trying to do? Because I can’t pretend like I don’t know you. I know you, Clarke. And you know me. Better than anyone. This time apart…it hasn’t changed who I am, or how I feel."

Clarke's eyes are wet.  "Me either. But I don’t know how to start."

Lexa squeezes her hand.

"Let’s get out of here?"

 

 

_ (September 6th, 2025.) _

_ Clarke opens the door, and for the first time this month -Lexa isn’t excited to see her. _

_ They’re telling Charlie she’s moving tonight, and every muscle in her body is knotted with the worry that it will go wrong. _

_ “She’s upstairs, coloring,” Clarke tells her while she ushers her inside, and Lexa weakly raises the plastic bag in her hand.  _

_ “I brought her favorite ice-cream,” she tells her, putting it down on the breakfast island.   Charlie loves grape nut ice cream. She used to take spoonful after spoonful and then spit out the crunchy bits only to eat them again. She and Clarke found it adorable while their friend thought it was gross -that simple thing made them gain a new understanding of what being a parent meant. She looks away from the tub of melting ice-cream, meeting Clarke’s eyes and coming back to the present. _

_ “Is this wrong? I don’t want her to think we’re bribing her with ice cream- I feel like I’m trying to ply her with ice cream.” _

_ Clarke’s hand finds a place on her wrist, and Lexa jumps at the contact, before immediately relaxing. _

_ “We’re not,” Clarke affirms. “I’m nervous too,” Clarke confesses. “I keep remembering how this went over the first time, and I don’t want to hurt her. But you know what I think?” _

_ Lexa looks up at her, tearing her eyes away from her hand on her wrist. _

_ “This isn’t like last time,” Clarke tells her before squeezing her wrist. “We’re not like last time.” _

_ Lexa nods. Clarke walks away to put the ice cream on the freezer, and Lexa breathes easier as she turns away. _

_ There’s a civil war inside her body these days. She’s nervous to see Clarke, excited to talk to her, her entire body clenches with nerves when she touches her -before relaxing completely. After a few minutes on the phone everything falls away and Lexa feels the calmest she’s felt in years. After a second of her touch, past the immediate shock, she feels nothing but warmth. She straddles the duality of knowing Clarke, to her core, to being deeply in love with her as she’s always been, and of trying to start over with her with new eyes. _

_ Tonight, though, it’s even more present. _

_ The memory of them telling Charlie they were splitting up is still fresh on her mind, as is the memory of them telling her they were getting a divorce -explaining what it was, how permanent. It doesn’t feel permanent now, not with all the words that have flown between them the past week, but she knows the memory must still haunt her daughter. It was the start of her life changing, after all. Lexa herself hasn’t forgotten that day, can’t. _

_ Charlie’s tears still hurt her, somewhere deep inside her chest. _

_ “Charlie, mommy is here!” Clarke yells up the stairs, and a minute later Charlie’s bare feet pound the carpeted steps of the stairs as she comes down running. Lexa immediately swallows the sadness her memories have made resurface. It’s not going to be like that tonight. _

_ They’re different. It’s all different. _

_ “Mommy!” Charlie throws her arms around her, and Lexa swallows the guilt that comes from knowing what they’re going to be telling her after dinner, tries to replace it with the certainty that this will be better for them -all three of them, their little family- in the long run. _

 

 

 

“We can go back to my apartment,” Lexa offers, as they sit quietly in the car. “It’s only about 40 minutes away at this time of day.”

Clarke shakes her head.

“No. No, it’s fine. Your car is fine.”

Lexa looks at her from the corner of her eye, the atmosphere inside the car heavy, even with the air conditioning at full whack, even with the fresh autumn wind outside the windows. 

“I think…we just needed somewhere more private.”

Lexa nods. 

There was something strange about them in the restaurant, something tense and stretched taut, but their close proximity in the car has done nothing but to increase it -in a different, infinitely more dangerous way.

She's not uncomfortable anymore, and Clarke sounds breathless.

"Yeah, somewhere more...huh, private. Yes."

Lexa dares to look up at her, and a second after her eyes meet those endlessly blue ones, her lips are on hers.

She's burning and melting all at once.

It's fast and hot, and the cold air hitting her neck from the car vents does nothing to appease the feeling that she's been dropped in molten lava. Clarke's mouth is soft yet hard against her, her movements fast. Her hand comes up to cup her cheek and tilt her head, deepening the kiss, and Lexa hears a moan when her tongue touches Clarke -and she's not entirely sure which one of them it came from.

The hospital wasn't enough. The past few days of looks and texts have done nothing to quell a hunger that has been growing inside her for too long, for two years, whether she accepted it or not.

She's missed her wife too much not to kiss her.

Clarke is the first to pull away, lips reddened and eyes big -breathless.

“We can’t do that,” she almost whispers.

“I know," she tells her, remembering that they're trying again, that they can't rush. That it's not just their hearts at stake. "I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Clarke drags her thumb down Lexa’s wet, plumped bottom lip, and Lexa can’t resist kissing the digit. “Not for that. Never.”

Lexa breathes in, tries to get oxygen into her lungs and logic into her head. 

“We should make that a rule,” she says, forcing herself to sit back.

“We’re gonna have rules?” Clarke asks, a hint of a smile she loves on her lips.

“We should,” she tells her, firm. Clarke nods, feeling, as Lexa, that the moment drifts away.

“No kissing, then,” she says. She sounds incredibly disgruntled, and Lexa smiles.

“Remember when you were pregnant…I think you were like 5 months along. And you were really, huh-”

“Horny?” Clarke supplies.

“But you were mad at me for something. I think I got the wrong kind of…”

“Olives,” Clarke tells her. “The smell made me puke. I was pissed at you.”

Lexa smiles, the joy spreading across her face. Clarke had looked just as sulky back then. 

“But you still wanted to have sex,” she tells her, remembering the day. “And we did. But you just wouldn’t-”

Clarke looks away in embarrassment, biting her lip.

“I wouldn’t kiss you at all.” Clarke looks back at her. “So is no sex rule #2? Or just no kisses?”

Lexa ignores the bait for the moment, even as something inside her squeezes at the thought they can joke about this now.

“I think we shouldn’t jump into things too fast,” she tells her honestly.

Clarke regards her carefully, and then nods.

“I agree.” She touches Lexa’s thigh briefly. “Can I add one of my own?”

“Be honest,” Clarke tells her, and it’s heavy. It’s laced with sadness that Lexa knows she put there. “Regardless if it hurts, or if we think the other we’ll be angry. We have a lot to talk about and what we say has to be the truth.”

Lexa nods again. 

Her words might be heavy but the topic of the conversation, their future together? Lexa agrees with every single word. 

“I will be,” Lexa promises. “If you are too.”

“I promise,” Clarke tells her. “Is it…can I start? I wanted to ask you something, before,” she says, waving towards the restaurant 20 feet behind their car. 

“Of course.”

Clarke takes a breath.

“When are you coming back?” She asks.

Lexa tells her the truth.

“I don’t know.” It’s simple and it’s hard. She likes her apartment, her job. There’s no pain hiding in corners, no crevices filled with the memories of fights or cafes that she can’t drive past because they remind her of good times they both left drift away. She doesn’t know when she’s coming back. Hasn’t made set plans. She wants to but something’s holding her back. “I know I only signed a contract for 6 months and I…I think I want to go back after that, but I cant keep jumping from apartment to apartment.”

“You don’t have to,” Clarke says right away, and Lexa knows she shouldn’t have finished her statement with an excuse. “The house is-”

“I can’t go back.” And that’s it. It’s not just the city. 

“I know,” Clarke says. “It’s too soon. That was stupid of me.”

Lexa looks at her, the way she trains her eyes on the steering wheel. She allows herself one more touch for the evening, and lets her hand softly grasp Clarke’s chin and make her look at her.

“Honesty, was it?” she asks.

Clarke nods.

“Even if we get back together, I can’t imagine going back to the house.” It’s a weight off her shoulders, another one. Soon enough she’ll no longer feel like Atlas. “I have to deal with that on my own, I know that, but right now…it just has to many bad memories. I was in the kitchen when my back started hurting. I was in our bedroom when my stomach cramped up. And we fought everywhere. Charlie cried everywhere. It’s just- I know it’s our home. I know it’s the only home Charlie has ever known, but I can’t think about living there again. Not right now. I don’t want to. It’s too soon- don’t ask me to.”

“Lexa- I understand.”

Lexa nods. She feels the cold hands of guilt unclench from around her windpipe. Clarke isn’t judging her. She’s not going to.

“Thank you.”

“No.” Clarke grasps her hand. “Thank you for telling me.”

“There’s another thing,” Lexa adds. “Those rules we talked about?”

Clarke nods, grasps her hand tighter.

“We can’t let Charlie know," Lexa tells her. "Not until we’re sure that we’re going to stay together.” 

Clarke looks at her for a moment, and then nods somberly.  “We’re not doing that to her again.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

"What do you think about mommy’s new place?” She asks it casually over lunch, while Charlie is happily munching away on her nuggets and fries, while she draws with the ketchup on her plate, a lone finger making swirls of red.

 Charlie has been exceptional about Lexa moving ever since they told her, but deep down, Clarke can’t help but wonder if it's a front. She doesn’t think children that young are capable of lying that well, and Charlie would never willingly lie to them, of that she is sure…unless it was to spare their feelings. 

Charlie had never said a bad thing about Finn to her face, but she’d told Lexa that she didn’t like the way he talked to her like she was a baby.

She wonders if this is like that. But she also doesn’t want to call her best friend’s 10 year old daughter to ask her if her own daughter is hiding how she really feels. She’s not that type of mother.

“I like it,” Charlie says almost immediately. “It’s prettier than her old apartment. Bigger -although her balcony is smaller.”

 Clarke nods. She was relieved when she first saw it. Lexa’s previous balcony had given her chills, every time she left Charlie with her.

“Although?” she notes, the word big for her little girl. “Nice.” 

“River taught it to me,” Charlie says, obviously proud. “She says it’s what fancy people say instead of ‘but’.”

“Good description.”  

Clarke chuckles, part of it relief. Maybe she is fine with all of this. Maybe she’s even more resilient than she thought, and she thought she was incredibly resilient already. And maybe she’s ready to hear what Clarke is going to ask her next, even if it makes her scared. So many changes in so little time…

 Clarke takes a bite of her own food while she thinks about how to phrase her next question. She’s thought about it all day, but its always more challenging a second before she does it. She decides to bite the bullet.

“So…what would you think about me doing that, too?”

Charlie looks up, frowning at her. Clarke hopes her nerves don’t show in her tone of voice.

 “Saying although?”

“No, honey. I mean...moving. To a different place.”

Clarke has given it a lot of thought. 

She’s tossed and turned all night, trying to figure out if it was the right choice for Charlie, because she already knew it would be the right choice for them, for her and Lexa. A new house away from the pain, a fresh start. 

 A smaller place, because she has a hard enough time cleaning when it’s just her, and the bill is a little too much for just one salary. But they’re doing fine, it’s not because of that. This place just has too many memories, and it’s hard on Clarke. And she knows now that it’s just as hard on Lexa, maybe too hard. 

 _‘I can’t picture myself living there again, I imagine it and it’s like walking through a graveyard_.’ Lexa had told her that. She’d bared herself to her, and when Clarke thought about it, it would feel strange.

Like they were trying to mimic what they used to be, trying to fill their previous roles and pretend like those 2 years didn’t happen at all. She imagines them both living together again here, and her heart yearns for it, but not if it’s going to hurt Lexa further. She can’t erase what they lived through, and even if they tried again here, it wouldn’t look the same.

So maybe it doesn’t need to be here.

But it’s the house Charlie was born, the house she’s grown up in so far, the only home she’s ever known. Back when they first divorced they talked briefly about moving out, selling the house and splitting the money -they’d bought it together, after all. But they both decided that one of them should stay in the house with Charlie, and Lexa had wanted her to since she’d already been living there while she was gone. 

It’s different now, though. Because now she’s thinking about Lexa’s words and how she can’t live here anymore, and how she wants them to live together again, as soon as possible. How she wants to move forward.

“Why?” is Charlie’s only question.

“I don’t know, I thought it would be a good idea,” she says gently. “A fresh start. Now mommy has a new apartment, and I was thinking I could find a nice one too.”

She can’t afford to rent a house as big as this one on her salary, and it had been a blessing that they’d already finished paying it when the divorce was finalized.

“I like this house,” Charlie says. Clarke nods.

“I know. It’s not decided yet. I was just thinking about it,” she says, honestly. She’d never make a decision like this without Charlie’s tacit approval. “And I wanted to know what you think.”

“Would it be closer to mommy?” Charlie asks. Clarke’s chest constricts. 

“No, Charlie, I’m sorry.”

“Do I have to change schools? And I like my dance teacher-”

“We wouldn’t be leaving the city,” Clarke promises. Charlie almost looks...sad about it.

“So we’re not going with mommy.”

Clarke presses her lips together. 

“No.”

“Oh.”

 “It could be closer to grandma’s,” she tells her. She did some research, and there a few nice apartments in the are, and within her budget. “And to River’s.” 

Charlie chews her fries with purpose for a seconds, and Clarke can almost see the little wheels whirring in her head.

She looks up. “Then okay. I think.”

“Really?”

 Even for Clarke -it would be hard to leave this house behind. She can’t even fully picture it, yet. But apparently her daughter has, and she thinks it would be ‘okay’. How does she do it?

And what did she and Lexa do to deserve her?

Charlie shrugs.

“This house has a lot of sad places,” she says simply. “Can we take pictures before we go?”

 

 

 

  _(September 6th, 2025.)_  

 

_Charlie’s legs swing from her place at the breakfast island._

_She’s biting her lip, and though Clarke can see her bright blue eyes swimming with tears, they haven’t fallen yet._

_“Are you leaving me?” her voice is tremulous and thin, and Lexa is shaking her head before she’s even done asking. Clarke remains quiet, watching the scene unfold. It’s different than before. Back then, Charlie had cried at once._ _“Of course not,” Lexa tells her. “We’ll see each other all the time. You’ll still spend half the time with me.”_

_Charlie whips her head to look at her, and Clarke doesn’t know why, until she reads it in her eyes. Charlie looks at her like she’s waiting for her to get mad, to tell Lexa that Charlie won’t go._

_“You will,” she tells Charlie. “Nothing will change, Mommy is just going to live a bit farther away.”_

_“But it’s too far away,” Charlie complains, looking straight ahead at them, the breakfast island offering height._

_“You’ll see it won’t be,” Lexa insists. “I’ll still drive you to school when you’re with me. Everything will be the same. Except for my apartment. It’s going to be bigger now, you know? We can go see it, together.”_

_Clarke remembers the last time they did this, and she’s quick to step up to Charlie and comfortingly lay her hand on her thigh._

_“The three of us,” she clarifies. “We can go see it together.”_

_Charlie looks doubtful, but the tears begin to recede._

_“You’ll spend a week with your mommy and a week with me,” Clarke tells her. “You’re a big girl, you’ve done it already.”_

_Charlie shakes her head._

_“And we’ll have dinner together during the week,” Lexa promises, a detail they'd already discussed. Charlie’s face brightens at that._

_“Together?”_

_Yes,” Lexa repeats. “Together.”_

_Clarke nods. “All three of us.”_

_Charlie eyes them, and Clarke can almost hear the little wheels whirring in her head. But after a moment of consideration, she nods._

_It’s certainly different than last time._

_Better._

 

 

 

Charlie is asleep in the guest room of her mother's house, while Clarke stares at the picture album open on her lap.

The photos don't lie. They can't, and she can see even through the shining smiles and perfectly applied makeup, how they were both struggling. She hates the version of Lexa she sees in front of her, the dark bags under her eyes and the hollowed cheeks.

"My poor girl," her mom says, and Clarke startles. She hadn't realized her mom had stepped up behind her.

She bristles at the comment, and she wishes she didn't. She's talking about Lexa. Things are great between her and Lexa these days, even if it's not common knowledge to everyone else, and it's hard to accept that and accept this.

Clarke looks up at her mom.

“It was hard for me too,” she says, immediately closing her eyes and hating the way it sounds. So pleading, pathetic.

“I know. I know that, honey.”

“Just because I wasn’t…just because I wasn’t the one who was pregnant doesn’t mean it wasn’t my child as well." And that's what she thinks about the most these days, when she remembers the miscarriage. "It hurt me, too, mom. And I wanted to get through it with my wife and she wasn’t there.”

“I know,” her mom says. “You didn’t have Lexa." Her mom sits by her side. "But you had me, and your friends. Lexa had no one.”

And that's something she thinks about a lot, too. Clarke left her alone.

 (She’s heard this before, acknowledged it before, but it doesn’t get easier.) 

Even if Lexa took the first step out the door, there was giving her space and then there was waiting for months on end only to give up. She was hurt, yes, but why did she give up? Why did she offer divorce papers in one last ditch attempt that Lexa would either decide to come back or put their marriage out of its misery, instead of actively trying to get her to return? She’s not sure. Pride? She doubts it. There was no room for that at that point.

Clarke thinks she was just exhausted. For herself and for Charlie, disheartened and tired of waiting for someone who didn’t want to come back -or so she’d thought. 

Everything is a bit clearer these days. 

She loves Lexa, still. And they still hurt each other greatly. And maybe both can’t exist alongside without being ignored in favor of civility. There’s no ignoring things anymore. Her choosing to move out so they can move forward is living proof of that.  The amalgam of reasons that pushed them apart and keep them intrinsically tied together is at the forefront now, and Clarke can’t do anything but pay attention.

This is the hard part.

“I used to want to punish her for leaving,” Clarke says out loud. It’s been hard work, unpacking everything from the past 2 years -bloody work, wretched- but she’s getting there. She’s putting in the hours.

“And?”

“I didn’t realize how much she was punishing herself.”

It had been obvious, to her, that it hadn't been Lexa's fault. Clarke's a doctor, it never crossed her mind to blame Lexa, so it hadn't been easy to understand how she could blame herself. 

She remembers the way she got drunk that night not so long ago, and the harsh words she fired against her and against herself before they started living separately...and Clarke understands the weight she was carrying in a way she hoped she had much earlier.

She thought before was hard, but now she realizes that giving up was simple. 

Fighting for their love is harder.

It’s sunny outside.

It’s an odd fall day, and Clarke removes her jacket 5 minutes into their lunch, because the sun is beating down on them from the middle of the sky. Clarke tries not to notice how Lexa is wearing a sleeveless vest, the type she was so fond of when they were younger and attended work dinners with her firm. She doesn’t succeed in not noticing, but at least she doesn’t stare. Much. 

The rules they came up with to make this work are going to bite them in the ass, she's sure of it.

“How’s the new job treating you?” Clarke asks, aware that there’s a particular topic eating her alive currently, and that she can’t wait to mention it to Lexa. Moving is progress, good and solid and tangible, and even Charlie agrees with the move. 

“It’s good.” Lexa takes a bite of her sweet potato fries. Clarke never acquired the taste. “I miss Gustus and the office, but it’s okay.”

She nods. 

She takes a drink of her coke, if only to buy herself some time to gather the courage to bring it up.

“I’ve been thinking -I wanted your opinion first. Um.” She clears her throat.

She has Lexa’s full attention now, and her ex-wife stares back at her with a slight frown. 

“About moving out,” she says finally. “Me, finding an apartment.”

Lexa blinks.

“You want to sell the house?”

They’d only finished paying it recently, a couple of weeks before Lexa moved out, actually, but they’d been too deep in their pain and sorrow, trudging through that heaviness every single day, to celebrate the milestone they’d worked so hard for. 

“I don’t know. I mean…” She sighs. “I do know, actually. I want to. You said we couldn't pretend like nothing happened and you were right. And we don't have to pretend. We need a fresh start.”

“But Charlie….”

Clarke smiles. 

“She’s okay with it. I asked her, we talked…” Clarke bites her lip. “She told me the house had a lot of sad places, and she’d be okay with leaving it, as long as she could take pictures before we left.”

“That’s…” Lexa shakes her head, then touches the spot between her eyes. Clarke knows that's where she gets her stress headaches, when a case is too hard. She doesn’t know what’s wrong now. This is good news.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No. Nothing’s wrong.” Lexa looks up. “Actually, I’m just...this seems too easy, that’s all.”

Clarke lets out a breath. She understands the feeling perfectly.

After everything they’d dealt with, it’s almost like they're not used to things going their way. 

“After everything...don’t we deserve easy?” she asks Lexa. 

Her ex-wife smiles.

She puts the house up for a sale two days after their conversation, and the real estate agent that takes over seems sure that it will sell well, and thanks to the improvements they made, should sell for more than they bought it for. 

She calls Lexa to tell her as much, but when the subject turns to the bank account Clarke should deposit half the money to when it does sell, Clarke realizes some things never change. 

Lexa refuses to take her part..

“We paid for the house together, you should get your half-”

“I thought we settled this when you stayed in the house with Charlie,” Lexa insists.

“I stayed there because we agreed someone should! We never said the house was mine now.”

“Because I thought it was clear!”

It takes hearing the exasperation in Lexa’s voice to realize they’re fighting. Having a discussion, some may call it, but Clarke knows how easily those can escalate when they’re both sure they’re in the right. And Clarke knows Lexa isn’t going to back down from this, even when she’s wrong -it’s in no way fair that she keeps the entire profit.

She decides right then and there that she won’t, no matter what Lexa wants. She deserves her half.

“Use the money for the new place,” Lexa tells her, and Clarke sighs. 

“Fine,” she lies. And then changes the subject, because she never was comfortable with lying to avoid an argument, but she does want to tell Lexa about this. “There’s this apartment close to the hospital. Cordoned off green area for kids. A pool in the roof.”

“Charlie always wanted a pool,” Lexa says, and Clarke can hear the smile in her voice.

“I think the change will be good for us,” she tells her. 

When the house does sell, surprisingly only a month after that, she puts the entirety of the money in a savings account, and uses her own paycheck for the security deposit and first month of rent for her new apartment. She signs a year lease. 

It’s hopeful -maybe too hopeful, that a year from now time this fragile thing she and Lexa are trying to nurture and rebuild will be stronger and blooming, strong enough for them to be together again and all it entails. But she does it. And she hopes.

 

 

 

The fresh scent of coffee hits her nose, and Lexa hums as she ties her sneakers.

The sun isn’t up yet, but she’s been trying to keep her promise to Indra, and putting in as many hours of exercise in her routine as she can reasonably do. So, a quick run before work on Mondays, because she gets out later those days. A weekend at the park with a book and maybe a yoga class.

The gym after work two or three days. She hasn’t felt this good in years.

She takes a quick sip of the coffee before she’s out the door, intent on finishing it after she comes back, energized from her run.

She hadn’t lied to Clarke at their lunch two weeks ago.

She likes her work at the new company, it’s good and difficult in the best of ways, getting her to engage and rely on numbers in a way she didn’t before, and Lexa finds that work is no longer what happens between waking up and returning home, but that she can be an active participant in it again, and enjoy what she’s doing.

Suddenly, her life isn’t about waiting to have Charlie with her again, and letting time pass her by at every other moment.

Now, she’s waking up with purpose, and a desire to do better, to be better. She finds once more what she’d thought she’d lost after the miscarriage. She doesn’t gain it back, or build it back up again, but realized she’d never actually lost it at all. Life had always been there, under the surface, waiting for her to claim it again.

She’s not in a hurry to go back, either, at least not the way she was before, at the hospital. 

This new chapter doesn’t feel like the inevitable introduction to starting her life with Clarke again, but a book of its own, just as worthy as all the others her life has been and will be comprised of. She doesn’t feel lonely like she used to.

And on those nights when the pain that will never truly leave begins to creep up on her, and sink her down, she calls Abby, but mostly, she calls Clarke. 

"I've been thinking about him a lot this week," she says softly, and Clarke's breath catches on the other side of the line.

"How do you know he was a he?" Clarke asks, a hint of amusement in her voice, and it's amazing to Lexa that they can remember with a modicum of joy.

Lexa hums.

"I don't know," she says. "I could feel it, I guess. Couldn't you when you were pregnant with Charlie?"

"Touché," Clarke says. "I always thought she was a girl.  Almost wanted the ultrasound to be wrong and for her to be a boy because of the name we picked."

Lexa chuckles. "Charlie is a great name."

"She always gets asked what it's short for," Clarke argues, laughing, too.

"We had this conversation eight year ago, didn't we?" She asks with a smile Clarke can't see.

There's silence for a moment, before Clarke speaks again.

"We did." She hears her sigh., and then hears something ruffle. When Clarke speaks again, her voice is choked up, and it makes something squeeze hard and mercyless in Lexa's chest. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" She asks.

"For giving up," she says simply. 

Lexa shakes her head, before realizing Clarke cannot see her. 

"You didn't," she says. "I made you wait, and you waited for as long as you could."

"Not long enough," she insists. "That was my mistake. And I'm so sorry."

Lexa bites her lip. She resented Clarke, for so long, for serving her the divorce papers, but she hated herself even longer for agreeing to sign them so easily. 

She's done with both.

"I forgive you," she says easily. "If that's what you need to hear."

"I think I need to feel it."

"We both do, don't we?"  Lexa lets out a slow, measured breath, until her chest stops feeling like it's breaking apart. "We're going to be alright, you know?  One day we'll look back at this and we won't be able to remember how hard it felt."

"You think?"

"I'm sure of it." 

 

 

She arrives an hour late to Clarke's, to one of their Wednesday dinners.

The traffic in the interstate far too heavy for a Sunday, and when she does arrive Charlie jumps into her arms with a relief that Lexa wishes she could erase. It's not needed.

She was always coming.

"I tried to call," Clarke says.

"My phone died, I'm sorry." It got dark while she was driving, and when she decided to call so they wouldn't worry, she remembered how it had died during a meeting that say at work, and how she'd left her USB cable at her apartment.

"No, it's okay," Clarke tells her. "It's just -Charlie was worried. Me, too," she adds. 

Lexa nods. Charlie's stare bounces between the two of them, the familiar look of her gauging if they were telling the truth, and there really won't be anymore terrible fights like the one she'd grown used to.

"I'm gonna play with my faery," Charlie announces, once she deduces her precence is not needed to avoid a fight, Lexa guesses. Her child is a genius like that, but they're trying to train her out of the habit. They don't need their child to play referee.

"I'm gonna get you a charger for your car," Clarke states and Lexa smiles.

"Okay. If you let me install a lock up here, where Charlie can't reach." She pats the doors of the balcony, and Clarke nods.

"Fine by me."

Lexa puts down her bag on the coffee table, slightly amused.

Lexa asks softly, mindful of Charlie's little ears. 

"We really _are_ getting back together, aren't we?" 

Clarke lets out a full belly laugh at her words, and Lexa chuckles herself. 

"She's gonna be entertained with that for a while. Want to get some air?" Clarke nods towards the balcony, and Lexa nods. 

She knows they have rules put in place, and that they're daughter is in the room beside them, but she always feels a flutter when alone with Clarke. And it's nothing to do with their history, or their divorce, but simply the electrifying effect she has on Lexa.

She follows her outside, and leaves the door half open.

Clarke seems omber now, quiet in comparison to how she was just a minute ago, and Lexa waits, noting that her mind seems very far away. 

“How do we do this?” she asks suddenly. 

“I don’t know,” Lexa says.

Clarke nods, looking away. The city lights seem so far away from the balcony of Clarke’s new apartment, so lonely. For the first time in what feels like centuries, Lexa doesn’t feel like them. The ache is still there, living inside her chest, the knowledge of what they’ve done to each other, of everything they’ve been through. But with it, the hope that they can move on, move forward. The unstoppable, undeniable feeling that this is where she’s meant to be tonight.

Next to the woman she loves, hearing their child’s laughter drifting out through the open balcony doors.

“I guess we just do it,” she says, and opens her hand next to Clarke’s on the railing. The street below is empty, the wind blows strands of her hair onto her face, and Lexa’s heart breaks and heals and breaks again with the most bittersweet happiness she has ever known, when Clarke intertwines their fingers together.

This is how they do it. How they heal and move forward and love.

Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for going on this ride with me! Let me know what you thought about the ending and the story as a whole. Thanks for reading!


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